


Skin Deep

by SymbioticAntithesis



Series: this scar remain reflected [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bigotry & Prejudice, Bullying, Canonical Character Death, Discrimination, F/M, FTM, Full Shift Werewolves, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, M/M, Other, Scent Marking, Sexual Identity, Trans!Stiles, Transgender, Transsexual, brief mention of suicidal thoughts, ftm!Stiles, full wolf transformation, mentions of hormone therapy, transgender character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:57:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SymbioticAntithesis/pseuds/SymbioticAntithesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has never felt right in her own skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve always wanted to write a trans!character and I’ve done my best to write as realistically as possible. If there’s anything that doesn’t sit right with you or isn’t completely accurate, please tell me and I will change it; I mean absolutely no offense.
> 
> Also, I've tried to find a FtM to help me out in editing, but no one stepped up so I'm incredibly nervous about posting this.
> 
> The second part isn't done yet (I've been struggling with it for months, actually), but I figured that this can be like a trial run. I was going to split it into two parts anyway, so.

Stiles has never felt right in her own skin.

At twenty months, she already refused to wear dresses.  Claudia and John had had quite a time trying to force a wriggling, screaming baby into a pretty pink and white dress for their Christmas family portrait. They managed, but Stiles, as young as she was, frowned and pointedly did not smile in any of the pictures. It had been a trying day for John and Claudia, but now, Stiles’ grumpy, unhappy face was always something John and Stiles could smile and reminisce about.  They’d tried putting Stiles in a dress again a few months later. It didn’t work. And John and Claudia resigned themselves in having a very boy-ish baby girl.

At four, Stiles got a hold of John’s electric razor and shaved her hair off.  Or attempted to, at least.  Claudia had found her, shrieked, and wrenched the razor out of her hand when she was only halfway through her first swipe. She took Stiles to the hairdresser the very next day and Stiles sported a short, spiky haircut that she was quite proud of.

At six, Stiles brought home Scott, her newly proclaimed best friend.  She liked Scott because he didn’t judge her on how she dressed or how she liked her hair short or how she’d rather roughhouse with the boys than play with dolls indoors with the girls.  Jackson had learned the hard way that Stiles didn’t take shit from anyone and had received a fist to his nose when he said that she acted too much like a boy. She got sent home and lectured, but it had been worth it for the look on Jackson’s face.

When she was seven, her mom got sick.  She tried her best to make Claudia smile, to make her happy, but sometimes it was hard because sometimes she didn’t completely feel right herself.  How could she say “It’s all right, mommy,” or “You’re going to be fine,” when Stiles didn’t feel _okay_? There was something itching at her just beneath her skin, something that told her that she was _wrong_ , that her entire existence was _wrong_.  In a sudden fit of desperation, Stiles told the nurses that she was sick, too, because she didn’t like being a girl, but the nurses only smiled at her indulgently and led her back to Claudia’s room and sat her down.  “You’ll grow into it,” they said.  “It’s just a phase,” they said.  But even if she was still young, Stiles _knew_ that she didn’t belong. She never mentioned her “sickness” to the nurses again.  And maybe that was why her mother was sick.  Maybe she was the cause of Claudia’s illness, because she always made it difficult for her when Claudia tried to dress her in pretty clothes, offered her dolls to play with, tried to put flowers in her hair, because Stiles _didn’t want to be a girl_.

That night, she stayed over at the McCall’s and confessed everything to Scott, sobbing, her eyes watery, her face red and blotchy, and Scott sat down next to her and held her close. Melissa found them the next morning curled into each other and left them alone.

Her mother never did get better, and Stiles blamed herself.  No matter what the doctors said, no matter how reassuring they tried to be, there was a deep-seated guilt that had already buried itself deep in Stiles’ chest, making a home there.  It ate at her every minute of every day and everyone thought the bags under her eyes, the pallor of her skin, her bloodshot eyes were all simply because her mother was in the hospital.  Scott knew better. Stiles knew better.

They didn’t talk about it.

Two years later when Stiles was nine, Claudia passed away, and Stiles broke down.  Her father wasn’t any better.  John and Stiles had barely exchanged words since Claudia was admitted into the hospital, barely even _saw_ each other even when they were in the same room. They were so consumed by their own grief, their own guilt, that they couldn’t even reach out to the only other support that could _understand_. But Stiles didn’t think her dad would understand, didn’t think that he’d understand that this was _Stiles’_ fault.  It was her fault and she hadn’t tried very hard to fix it.  Stiles had tried to wear dresses, but she never could manage to step out of her bedroom door.  She tried to grow her hair out, but she always ended up cutting it short again when it reached her ears.  She _tried_ , but it hadn’t been enough.  It obviously hadn’t been enough.

At twelve, when she had her first period, she cried.  _I don’t want to be a girl, I’m not a girl, I don’t want to be a girl._ Stiles contemplated telling her father, thought about telling a counselor, she thought about killing herself because of how uncomfortable she felt in her own skin.

She didn’t.

Instead, she researched. She scoured the internet and the library for anything and everything on gender and sexuality. And when she finally found the reason, when she finally had an explanation on why she felt out of place, why she never felt _right_ , she was stuck between warring emotions.  Relief that maybe she wasn’t as much of an abomination as she thought.  Despair because how could anyone accept her for her anomaly.

She stole a couple of sports bras the following day and started to wear them.  Stiles felt a little more comfortable with herself the more she looked like a boy. No one actually _referred_ to her as a boy, not even Scott or John, but for now, it was enough.

At fourteen, she developed a crush on a boy.  Stiles didn’t think it was that weird until she really thought about it.  If she didn’t really think of herself as female, and she had a crush on a male, what did that make her?  Homosexual?  Or technically still heterosexual?  But it wasn’t as if she _didn’t_ look at girls, too (i.e., Lydia Martin; who wouldn’t?), so was she bisexual?  But if her crush saw Stiles as female, was that heterosexual? The thought process was much too convoluted and she tucked it in the back of her mind to examine later, and she stewed in her hopeless crush on Danny Mahealani, because, well, Danny was openly gay and Stiles was technically a girl.  Technically.  Her body was a girl, but her mind definitely wasn’t.

At sixteen, Scott fell head over heels in love with a new transfer student, Allison Argent and Stiles had never felt so alone.  Allison accepted Scott for all his awkward dorkiness and was somehow inaugurated into the ‘cool’ group because of Allison’s friendship with Lydia.  Stiles was kind of left on the wayside.  Scott still hung out with her, she still talked his ear off, they still got into trouble together, but it became increasingly ScottandAllison instead of ScottandStiles.

She tried not to feel hurt, to feel abandoned, but she did.  She tried to not feel bitter and not good enough, but she did.

Stiles wanted to be accepted. Stiles wanted someone to know who she really was, who she really identified as, and still have them say “It’s okay, I still want you.”  It’s not that Scott didn’t, but they were friends and Stiles wanted something _romantic_.  Something that Scott and Allison shared.  Seeing Scott and Allison together, two people on very opposite ends of the spectrum get along so well and just _click_ made her – all right, she’ll admit it – _jealous_. She wanted that, and she didn’t think she ever would get it.

Also at sixteen, John confronted her, told her that she had left her computer open on a page discussing about hormone therapy for transgender people.  Stiles froze up, didn’t know what to say, what to think.  But most importantly, what would _John_ think?  She already gave him a hard time, she knew, with all the running around at night with Scott investigating things she shouldn’t, listening in on the police scanner, her inability to focus on one thing for very long, and her general pigheadedness. She didn’t want to add what Stiles thought was the worst she could ever do to her father: take away his daughter, the daughter everyone says looks like Claudia (despite Stiles’ clothing and hair choices).

She was working herself into a panic attack – she hadn’t had one in years – and she couldn’t breathe, her heart was clenching and pounding in her chest.  Stiles stumbled backwards and John caught her before she could collapse on the floor.

“It’s okay, son.”

And Stiles broke down crying.

“I’ve suspected for a while,” John said, holding her to his chest, lowering them onto Stiles’ bed and Stiles let out a sob of disbelief.  “I was waiting for you to come to me, but it never happened.  _I love you_ , Stiles. Nothing will change that.”

She buried her face into John’s shoulder and stayed there for hours, tears streaking her cheeks, soaking in John’s warmth, reassurance, _acceptance._

Later, late at night after they’d both eaten, they sat down together on the couch, clutching mugs of Claudia’s special apple cider in their hands.  Now that it was finally out in the open, they talked.  It was awkward at first, Stiles never having spoken to anyone about this, not completely.  Stiles could tell that her dad was doing his best, but he was out of his element, despite how determined he was to make Stiles happy.

But they managed. John suggested they both go to the hospital to talk to doctors about their options and he even suggested they tell Melissa so Stiles could have another confidant who’d know more of what was happening with Stiles’ body if she decided to take hormones. Stiles was grateful for how _calm_ her father seemed about the whole thing, because inside, she was in turmoil.  She was happy, yes, but she was also so very terrified.

“Do you want to be referred as ‘he’ from now on?” John asked, when their conversation started to wind down. 

Stiles was taken aback, never actually having thought about it before.  Did she?  She was already dressing like a boy, acting like a boy, she kind of _spoke_ like a boy, too; it was a plus that her voice was rather low for a female and she was infinitely glad for it.  Even if everyone at school still knew that Stiles was ultimately a girl, she certainly didn’t look or act like one.

“I never thought about it,” she admitted.  “But I think yes.”

John nodded and that was that.

In the following weeks, Stiles and John weighed their options and Stiles finally decided that _yes_ she wanted to do this.  She wanted to become _he_. John would take care of the legality side of it, since Stiles was still underage, and Melissa walked her through the more intricate parts of taking hormones.

Everyone reacted differently, was basically what Stiles got out of the lecture.

But one of the most important things, she realized, was that the hormones could potentially render her infertile. It was rare and it was usually only a _decrease_ in fertility, but Stiles wasn’t completely sure if she wanted that taken away from her. Sure, she hadn’t really _thought_ about kids – she was only sixteen – but the simple act of taking away the opportunity of children didn’t sit well with her. And she hadn’t even toyed with the idea of the reassignment surgery.

She weighed her options and decided that she couldn’t let that hold her back, not when she was so close to finally feeling _right_ , like she _belonged_.

Scott had pulled his head out of the clouds long enough for Stiles to explain what she was going to do and she was reminded of what an amazing friend Scott was, regardless of his occasional ignorance.  He supported her, completely and irrevocably, and it made her swell with affection and hope.

Stiles spent the summer taking dosages of testosterone and getting re-accustomed to his – _his_ – body.  He started working out, going on runs.  His breasts – already small to begin with, thank god – shrank a little, but he still had to use his chest binder.  His clit enlarged a bit and Stiles experimented – how could he not, he just turned seventeen.  His voice deepened a little, his upper body became more muscular (though he still retained some of the softness of a woman around his stomach), he grew some facial hair. And Stiles started his senior year at Beacon Hills High as a male.  He was ogled, people whispered behind his back, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like clawing at his skin because he felt _wrong._

Scott stayed by his side, as did Allison because they were practically attached at the hip. Stiles liked Allison enough but he was still bitter about her taking Scott away when he had needed him most. But Scott was back, he was still his friend, and he was glaring off anyone who dared to even _look_ at Stiles wrong.  Stiles found it amusing that Scott suddenly felt like he needed to ‘defend his honor’, but he let Scott do what he wanted.  It was Scott; he’d do what he wanted regardless.

His friend group even grew during his senior year, because with Scott came Allison.  With Allison came Lydia.  With Lydia came Jackson.  With Jackson came Danny.  He thought that he would be awkward with both Lydia and Danny in close proximity to him – hello, crushes – but it wasn’t awkward in the usual ‘oh my god, what should I say, what should I do’ flailing.  It was more of a ‘I’m not sure why you’re talking to me, you’re probably only talking to me because Scott is dating Allison and I’m the baggage he’ll refuse to get rid of’.

And though Stiles had never had this many people surrounding him in his life, had never been categorized with the ‘popular’ group, it didn’t feel completely right. He still felt lonely. They were _there_ with him, sure, but it didn’t mean they _accepted_ him for who he was.  They didn’t _understand_. There were only three people he knew accepted him wholly – his dad, Scott, and Melissa McCall. Everyone else Stiles treated cordially but never let them get too close.  He couldn’t trust them.  Not really.

On top of starting his last year of high school as decidedly _male_ , the teasing and bullying intensified.  Despite the fact that he had more ‘friends’, they weren’t with him all the time. He was poked and prodded – both verbally and physically – and he largely ignored them.  But sometimes he couldn’t.  Mr. Harris, despite being a chemistry teacher, alluded to the reactions of certain hormones within the body and gave Stiles a pointed look throughout his spiel.  Stiles didn’t rise to the bait.  But he wanted to, oh did he want to.  Coach Finstock accidentally on purpose referred to Stiles as ‘she’ despite his request at the beginning of the year.  It grated his nerves whenever Finstock said ‘she’ because it wasn’t Stiles.

Some of the boys on the lacrosse team tried to gang up on him once, but Jackson and Danny intervened, much to Stiles’ surprise and chagrin.  He was accosted more than once in the bathroom, he was called a freak, he was called _abnormal_ , but he was never completely ostracized, not with Scott and the ‘popular’ group on his side.

Other than his sudden status – both popularity wise due to his new clique and as _that guy who used to be a girl_ – Stiles’ senior year went by relatively smoothly.  It was still hard, and he’d come home more than once a little roughed up, but he managed and he carried on.

When he graduated with honors, second in his class after Lydia, he couldn’t wait to get out of Beacon Hills. He was ready for a fresh start. Beacon Hills will always be home, but there were memories buried here he’d much rather leave behind. He didn’t want to _forget_ , he just wanted to get away.  He wanted to be in a place no one knew who he _was_ and only knew who he _is_.

John had sat him down once while Stiles was flipping idly through college pamphlets and brochures and they had discussed which university Stiles wanted to attend. In the end, he had gotten an offer of a full ride academic scholarship to Stanford and Berkley, and Stiles ultimately chose Berkley due to its proximity to San Francisco.  Though it was further than John would have liked, he agreed that the support network in San Francisco was imperative for Stiles’ growth and acceptance, and Stiles loved his father even more for his understanding.

If he couldn’t find himself in San Francisco, couldn’t grow into himself and be accepted for being transgender, then he wouldn’t find it anywhere.

John and Scott helped him move into his dorm, a single with shared bathroom, kitchen, and common room, and they both wished him luck before they left.  Stiles promised to be back in Beacon Hills for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Scott made him pinky promise. _Pinky promise_ ; they hadn’t done one of those in years. But Scott was attending the local community college in Beacon Hills and Allison was also at Berkley with Stiles. Scott was a bit put out, being left behind, but Stiles knew he’d be fine.  They’d all be fine.

When his first semester started, Stiles finally felt like he fit in.  He made friends, he got closer to Allison (and joked about how he had actually been jealous of her because he had taken Scott away from him), he was _liked_.  And no one knew that he was born female. 

It was liberating.

But the first time Stiles had sex – or attempted to – the guy he was with freaked out.  Stiles viciously tamped down the hurt and let him leave; he never got a call or a text back.  He saw him around campus, but he always avoided Stiles’ eyes.  Stiles told himself that he wasn’t worth it, but it didn’t stop the utter feeling of _rejection_ twist deep into his heart.

“He was an asshole,” Allison said when he had snuck into her dorm room to tell him how much of a disaster the night was.  “Close minded.”

“You’d have to have a really open mind to want someone like me,” Stiles muttered bitterly.

Allison grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. Hard.  “No, Stiles,” she said with conviction, her voice unwavering, her eyes hard.  “They don’t know what they’re missing.”

Stiles didn’t argue.

He didn’t believe her, but he didn’t argue.

Stiles tried to take it in stride, tried to take Allison’s words to heart and not let it get to him. He went on as he always did, talking a mile a minute, making friends, acing his classes, impressing the professors with his thoughts and ideas – sometimes even surprising himself.

Then the day before a three-day weekend, Danny Mahealani gave him a call.  Danny, who Stiles hadn’t spoken to since they graduated high school. And he invited him and Allison to come up to San Francisco with him and a couple of his friends. Stiles didn’t have anything planned, wasn’t planning on going home, so he agreed.

That weekend, Stiles’ world opened up.  He met other transgendered and transsexual people, he met those who were intersex. The best part was, they were _just like him_ and they were _happy_.  Some were in a steady and loving relationship with someone who wasn’t intersex or transgender and Stiles held on to the small hope that maybe he’d find someone who’d accept him like these people accepted their partners.

Also that weekend, he gave up his virginity.  It was Saturday night, the last night before they had to head back to Berkley the next afternoon for classes on Monday.  Danny had dragged them all to a LGBT eighteen and over club.  They danced, they bummed drinks off of older men and women, and they had a blast.  And Stiles met Alex, a handsome blond with deep blue eyes.  Alex bought him a drink, whispered in his ear, and pulled Stiles onto the dance floor despite his initial reluctance – he was tired and hot and sweaty; he needed a break.  But his protests died in his throat when Alex started to sensually move his hips against Stiles’, their crotches brushing up against each other.

Suddenly awkward and unsure, he took a step back and blurted, “I’m trans male.” 

Alex simply raised an eyebrow and reeled him back in.  “Okay." 

He was still skeptical for a while, but when he caught Danny’s eye from across the dance floor, he gave Stiles a thumbs up and an encouraging grin.  Only then did Stiles allow himself to relax a little, let go of his inhibitions, and enjoy the attention, enjoy the feel of another body rubbing up against his.

Stiles didn’t think Alex was going to ask him back to his place, so when he did, Stiles was startled. “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Alex said, and he sounded genuine.  But just for that, it made Stiles _want_.

“Sure.”  Alex flashed him a blinding grin and grabbed his hand, laced their fingers together.  “Let me tell my friends first.”

Alex nodded amicably and Stiles pulled him over to where Danny was still dancing with two hunky blond twins. He tapped Danny on the shoulder, leaned in to talk into his ear.  Danny gave him a reassuring slap on the back and eyed Alex critically.

“I expect you at the diner around the corner no later than noon tomorrow,” Danny said, and gave Alex a look.

Alex smiled, “I’ll hand deliver him if I have to.”

“You better.”

Then Danny was waving him off and Alex was pulling him away.

When they got to Alex’s apartment not two blocks away, Stiles started to get nervous.  And Stiles’ knee-jerk reaction to nerves was to babble.

“I’ve never done this before. Well, I tried once but the guy freaked when he shoved his hand down my pants and realized I didn’t have a cock. It was kind of embarrassing, really, but it kind of hurt, too.  He was an asshole, but still.” 

“Stiles,” Alex said, partially amused and handing him a glass of water Stiles didn’t even know he fetched. “It’s okay.”

“I just – ” he paused, took several large gulps of water.  “I know I’m a bit _abnormal_ but – ”

“Don’t call yourself that,” Alex frowned.  “You’re not abnormal.”

Stiles shrugged helplessly. “I’ve felt like it for more than half of my life so far.”

Alex sighed and plucked the glass out of Stiles’ hand, put his and Stiles’ glasses on the counter. “But you knew,” Alex said calmly. “You knew but still decided that this is the life you wanted to live.  _Chose_ this life despite the fact that it’d be difficult.”

“Staying how I was would’ve been difficult,” Stiles said, flexing his fingers now that they were empty. His heart fluttered in his chest, anxious.

“I’m pansexual,” Alex offered. “Sometimes it’s hard to explain to people.” 

“True, but at least that’s just your sexual orientation and not your gender identity.” Stiles started to fidget, energy starting to boil up inside him.

“Also true,” Alex said. He took a step forward and rested a hand gently on Stiles’ cheek.  “It doesn’t downgrade your choices, though.  You chose to be _you_ and that’s a wonderful thing.”

Stiles searched Alex’s eyes, warm and open and honest.  Okay, he thinks he had enough talk.  He leaned in and kissed him.  Alex’s lips moved against his and Stiles moaned uninhibited.  Before he knew it, he was herded backwards and onto a bed, his clothes slowly stripped off.

“I have some lube just in case you’re a little dry,” Alex whispered as he nipped down Stiles’ chest, down to his navel, reverent.

“Okay,” he breathed. He didn’t know if he’d need it; he got wet enough when he masturbated, but he didn’t know if it’d be adequate for intercourse.  “Okay.” And he closed his eyes and let himself be swept away by sensation.

By the time Alex rolled on a condom, he was _soaked_ and they definitely didn’t need the lube.  And when Alex pressed in slowly, it wasn’t painful at all.  It was overwhelming though, being this close to someone, sharing pleasure, sharing breaths.  Stiles arched into Alex, clawed at his back with one hand, shoved his other between their sweat-slick bodies to finger his clit.  It didn’t take very long for Stiles to come, Alex having worked him up close enough to orgasm before penetration.  Stiles barely noticed Alex coming soon after, so completely wrapped in _feeling_.

Afterwards, laying together and catching their breaths, Stiles thought that yeah, he could do this. It was a hard choice but he still believed it was the _right_ one. He fell asleep feeling confident and sated.

The following morning, Stiles woke to Alex looking down on him fondly, a small curve to his lips. “Hey there.”  Stiles grunted and buried himself deeper into the sheets. Alex chuckled and stroked a hand through his messy hair.  Stiles leaned into it. “I promised your friend to deliver you to the diner by noon,” Alex said after long minutes of comfortable silence. Stiles grunted again. “It’s almost eleven-thirty.”

“Fuuuuuck,” Stiles groaned.

Alex laughed and the warmth of his body next to him disappeared.  He whined in protest.  “C’mon, Stiles.”

Stiles huffed and dragged himself out of bed reluctantly.  He dressed and watched Alex dress and thought that even for a one night stand, it was pleasant and he’d been damn lucky Alex was a nice guy.  They left Alex’s apartment, Stiles following behind, and they walked to the diner together.  Stiles didn’t feel as awkward as he thought he would’ve and they talked amicably, Stiles going off on tangents every other minute before they reached the diner. Stiles saw Danny, his friends, and Allison in the window and he turned to Alex to say goodbye.

“Can I have your number?” he blurted instead.

Alex raised an amused eyebrow. “Just so you know, Stiles. I’m not exactly looking for anything right now.”

“No, that’s not – it’s fine,” he said in a rush.  “I just, I think it’d be nice to be able to talk to someone about all,” he waved a hand vaguely in the air, “This.”  He looked at his friends at the table, talking and laughing.  “They know and they’re cool with it, but it’s not quite the same.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

Stiles gave him a small, vulnerable smile and Alex wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in, pressed a kiss on his brow.  He sighed and closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Alex’s lips seep in to the rest of his body. Alex pulled away after a few moments and took out his phone.  They exchanged numbers and they went their separate ways.

When Stiles slid into the booth to join their friends, Danny looked him up and down, scrutinizing, and Allison wrinkled her nose, her eyes narrowed in mock suspicion.  Stiles rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep the smile tugging at his lips.

They ate brunch and they piled into two cars to drive back to Berkley.  When Stiles stumbled into his room, he collapsed on his bed and spent the rest of the day there, contemplating Alex and the time they spent together. He’d been understanding, patient, and _accepting_. As awkward and unsure Stiles was at the beginning, Alex had coaxed him out of his shell and though there was a lot Stiles still had to explore about his sexuality, Alex at least gave him a taste of what he liked without being judgmental.  And he’d needed that.

The rest of the semester passed peacefully, and Stiles and Allison went back to Beacon Hills for Thanksgiving. Upon their return to Berkley, they studied together for their finals, attended some house parties to blow off stress, and were back home for the holidays.

His second and third semesters passed by in a bit of a blur, and that first summer he spent with his dad in the sheriff’s office, taking calls and screwing with the newbies. He’d gone up often enough to San Francisco during the semesters to meet up with Alex and to hit some LGBT clubs, getting more information and support than he thought possible when he had first made his decision when he was seventeen.  And Alex was really a gem.  He was fast becoming one of his closest friends.

The beginning of his third year, Stiles met David.  David was tall with dark hair and dark eyes, a football player, smart, sarcastic, in his second year of his masters degree, and Stiles kind of wanted him.  Stiles was surprised to find out that David had been eyeing him out, too.  He agreed to meet up for coffee, and they hit it off.  Before Stiles could let it get any further, however, he told David upfront about what to expect.  He’d been taken aback – of course he was, anyone would be – but he surprisingly took it in stride, though there was a strange spark in his eyes that Stiles couldn’t quite place.

They went on several more dates before Stiles was sure that David was okay with who Stiles was, and then Stiles suddenly found himself with a boyfriend halfway through the semester. It was a first for him, but he was actually happy.  Allison was reserved, but she at least put up a friendly front whenever David was around. Stiles figured Allison was just missing Scott; they went through phases of pining so hard that everyone in their vicinity was dragged down into their emotional cesspool or when they were incredibly chipper and bright and enthusiastic about everything.

Sometimes it was incredibly exhausting; Stiles didn’t think he’d ever be able to handle a long distance relationship.

Once, though, he asked Allison about her thoughts on David.  She was the closest friend he had on campus and the only one who knew him when he was a ‘she’. 

Allison only shrugged and said, “He’s all right.” 

“Just all right?” he prodded.

“I dunno, Stiles. He’s just kind of . . .” she trailed off, frowning.  “A jerk sometimes.”

“I’m a jerk sometimes,” he pointed out.

“It’s not the same.” Allison didn’t say anything else on the subject and Stiles dropped it and never outright mentioned David again.

His relationship with David was easy, but they didn’t go out on dates too often due to their conflicting schedules. They stayed in most of the time, usually at Stiles’ and Stiles didn’t mind the lack of public interaction; he enjoyed spending time with David so it didn’t really matter when or where they were. 

Christmas and New Years came and went and Stiles was sloughing through his sixth semester. His classes were taking a lot out of him, but he was incredibly invested in all of them.  As a gender and women studies major and LGBT studies minor, Stiles felt like he found a purpose.  Many of his classmates had become good friends and his professors had expressed interest in Stiles’ own story.  He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with his degree – teach was one thing his advisor and professors suggested, another was an author, yet another was a counselor – but in the mean time, Stiles thrived.

During spring break, he contemplated asking David if he wanted to come down to Beacon Hills to meet his father and see the town he grew up in.  It wasn’t exactly a _big thing_ but it is a thing boyfriends do, right?  Meet the parents, show them around their childhood home.  They were only together three months, but a part of Stiles wanted to prove to the people who doubted him back home that he wasn’t _broken_.

He waffled for a few days before finally jogging up to David’s dorm late at night and sneaking himself in. Stiles passed by the common room and froze when he heard David’s voice drifting towards him, his tone cruel and mocking.

“Y’know he’s a trannie,” David drawled, and there was one guffaw and another slightly awkward, uncomfortable laugh.  “Didn’t think I’d be into it, but he’s pretty hot and a decent lay.”

Stiles’ heart dropped, the floor beneath him falling out.

“Never would’ve thought it,” David continued.  “But he’s fucking _wild_ in the bed. Guess that’s to be expected, though, because he _is_ a freak. Looks like a dude, acts like a dude, talks like a dude, and most of his body is like a dude, ‘cept he has a pussy. It was fucking weird the first time, man, but y’know, whatever.”

Stiles closed his eyes and breathed, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.  The nonchalance of his words, the blithe disregard he had of Stiles and his body . . . it fucking _hurt_. It hurt more than high school ‘cause this time, it was someone he thought cared for him.

Why hadn’t he seen it? Seen that he was just setting himself up for disappointment?  Because Stiles was the type of person to look for the good in everyone, regardless of anything.

Stiles grit his teeth and straightened.  No, he couldn’t let this get to him.  He squared his shoulders and marched into the common room.  All chatter stopped and all eyes snapped to him.  David was standing by the entrance of the kitchen, a red solo cup in hand, eyes wide with shock and panic.  There were three other people in the room; one was David’s teammate, a girl who looked incredibly guilty, and another guy who was smirking at him lecherously.  It made Stiles want to vomit.

“Congratulations for getting a trial run of the resident _freak_ ,” Stiles spat, fists clenched at his side, his body shaking from anger and humiliation. “But I’m not a toy to be played with.”

“Stiles – ” David started, but Stiles didn’t let him finish.  He rushed up to him, raised a fist, and socked him hard in the jaw. Pain shot up his hand, through his arm, but damn it was _good_. The two boys stood up, startled, the girl shrieked, and David stumbled backwards a few steps, his free hand flying up to cradle his cheek.  He’d have a bruise the following day, Stiles was sure of it.

“Fuck you,” he snarled. “Don’t you dare come near me again.” Stiles turned and stalked out of the room without looking back, his dignity and pride still intact, but he couldn’t say the same for David.  He bypassed his dorm and headed straight for Allison’s.  She opened the door after a few minutes of his frantic knocking, a look of annoyance on her face, but it disappeared when she saw Stiles, immediately replaced with concern.

“Stiles, what happened?”

“David’s an asshole.”

“Oh,” Allison breathed, and she stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.  He collapsed into her and let himself be held, a few wayward tears trickling down his cheeks.   Allison led him inside and closed the door behind them.  She guided him to her bed and laid him down, pulling him into her chest. He sighed and relaxed into her, feeling like an utter moron.

“You knew, didn’t you,” he slurred after long minutes of silence. 

“No, not really,” Allison admitted. “Something felt off about him, but I didn’t know what.”

“Should’ve told me,” he said. He should be angry that she hadn’t told him, but all he could feel was resignation and dejection.

“I didn’t know. Not for sure.”

“I trust your hunches.”

Allison laughed lightly, “Thanks.” A pause.  “You just seemed really happy, Stiles.  And I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. I started to think my instinct was wrong after you guys passed two months, but I guess I wasn’t.”

“Not your fault,” Stiles mumbled into her chest.

“It’s not yours, either,” she said softly.

“More mine than yours.” He’d been lonely, and when the opportunity of a boyfriend presented itself, Stiles willingly took it. Idiot.  But of course his first relationship would crash and burn. That’s just typically Stiles. “Can I stay tonight?”

“Yeah,” she said, kissing him on the forehead.  “Of course.”

Stiles forced himself through the rest of the semester and he spent much of his summer dicking around the reserve – sometimes with Allison and Scott – trying to get over his hurt and betrayal.

When Allison and Stiles returned to Berkley, he was more than ready to finish his last year strong. His senior seminar class had a newly hired teacher, a recently graduated Ph.D. scholar in sociology and women’s studies.  Her name was Laura Hale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to John and Claudia's (initial) ignorance, I felt that it wasn't that neither of them would have rejected the idea that Stiles identified as male (as proved later by John immediately accepting Stiles as male), but more that they just assumed that Stiles was a tomboy. It is, unfortunately, more socially acceptable for a girl to be a tomboy than a boy to be feminine. Just wanted to clear that up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit guys, I am a terrible terrible person and I haven't really done ANY work on this fic since I posted the first part. Sooooo I have decided to break the story into three parts since y'all have been waiting for nearly two months.
> 
> I am so sorry.
> 
> Unbeta-ed 'cause I'm a horrible person.
> 
> I'll do my best to finish the fic as quickly as possible while still being proud of the outcome, but absolutely no promises on when I'll be done.
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for those who left comments and kudos; it means a lot to me!
> 
> Also, I didn't make it clear, but Stiles is still taking hormones and I actually haven't decided yet if he uses a packer.

Stiles remembered the Hales.  Vaguely.  He remembered they lived on the outskirts of Beacon Hills in a huge house in the middle of the woods.  He remembered there were at least ten people living there.  He remembered the fire.  He remembered only Derek and Laura Hale survived.  He remembered that Kate and Gerard Argent were charged for arson and first-degree murder.  He remembered Laura picking up and moving across the country, taking Derek with her.

He remembered, but only because he dug deep into his memory.  Because the Hale fire had happened just around when his mother had passed away and though he empathizes with Laura and Derek now, he didn’t at the time.  How could he when he had been so wrapped in his own grief and loss and pain to even think about anyone else’s?

Regardless, Stiles started to visit Laura during her office hours more often than he initially expected; sometimes it was about the seminar and sometimes it wasn’t.  Laura didn’t mind, neither did Stiles.  They always had deep and meaningful discussions on sex, sexuality, gender identity, sexual orientation, and gender roles.  Stiles liked Laura.  She’s like the older sister he never had.

“You’ve grown into yourself,” she had said during their first meeting.  Stiles hadn’t known what to say, hadn’t known she’d remember him, but Laura smiled and said, “You look good.”

“I – thank you.”

She never mentioned his gender change, though he was sure if she remembered who he was before the fire that she knew that Stiles had been a ‘she’.  Laura never treated him any differently – well, that was a lie.  Stiles secretly thought he was her favorite student – and they fell into an easy and open friendship.

His gender only came up once, and that was when Stiles had brought it up.  They were discussing the social stigma of transsexuals and he’d been nearly bursting to tell Laura about his experiences.  Well, _some_ of them.  He was still hesitant on sharing everything he’s been through, and with good reason.  But his father knew about his challenges, so did Alex, but hearing the opinion of a gender-identified female was something Stiles hadn’t heard yet.  He could’ve asked Allison, he supposed, maybe even Lydia, but it wouldn’t have been the same.  Laura knew so much more about the community that her point of view was, in a sense, more meaningful. 

They ended up talking for hours.

One day, he walked in on Laura and her brother – it had to be her brother; they looked strikingly similar – bickering over god knows what.  Stiles simply stood in the doorway, gaping at the siblings: dark hair, blue-green eyes, lightly tanned skin.  To put it simply, they were gorgeous.  Stiles was pretty sure most of the straight males in his seminar had a hopeless crush on Laura, and Stiles could see why.  She was tenacious, witty, intelligent, and beautiful.  But while Stiles could understand his classmates’ infatuation with Laura, Stiles had decided a while ago – during one of his weekends with Alex – that he preferred men.  And as gorgeous he thought Laura was objectively, she didn’t hold a candle to Derek. 

Derek was all sharp cheekbones, stubble, messy hair, piercing eyes, and broad shoulders.  It was the first time Stiles’ heart skipped a beat and his knees went weak upon seeing someone attractive.  The first time, and it had to be for his TA’s brother.

“Stiles!” Laura said, breaking her argument with Derek and turning to him, a smile on her lips.  Stiles started and blushed awkwardly.  He raised his hand and wiggled his fingers, embarrassed.  “You remember Derek, my little brother?”

Derek scowled at Laura but turned to Stiles and gave him a once over, his nostrils flaring and his eyes widening then narrowing in quick succession.

“Er, yeah,” he said, tamping down on his urge to fidget.

“Have a seat.”  Laura gestured to the chair Derek was standing next to.  Stiles darted his gaze between Laura and Derek, Laura with an amused expression and Derek with annoyance.  “He won’t bite,” she joked, shooting her brother a wink and he practically snarled at her.  “Only if you want him to.”

“Uh, right.”  He edged into her office and sat down in the chair decidedly _not_ next to Derek.

Laura rooted through her bag before tossing her keys to Derek who caught them easily.  “I’ll call you when I’m done.  And so help me, if I find a _single_ scratch on the Camaro there will be hell to pay.” 

“That was _one_ time,” Derek said, frowning.  “And it wasn’t even my fault.”

Laura shrugged.  “It was still your responsibility.”

Derek glared and Laura gave him an unimpressed look.  He huffed and stuffed the keys into his jeans pocket.  “Fine.”  He glanced over to Stiles and he blushed at being caught staring.  Stiles couldn’t help it; Derek was distracting.  “Don’t let her walk all over you, her ego’s big enough as it is.”

Stiles bit his lip to stifle a laugh, Laura threw a pen at Derek’s head, and Derek dodged the projectile, trotted out of her office and threw his sister a smirk over his shoulder.

“Ugh, brothers,” Laura sighed and leaned back into her chair.  She shot Stiles a small smile.  “They’re impossible.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said automatically.

Laura tilted her head.  “What about that kid, Scott?”  Stiles blinked, surprised.  “You two were inseparable.  Caused a lot of trouble together, if memory serves.”

“No,” Stiles swallowed.  “You remember correctly.”

“He may not be your brother by blood,” she continued, giving him a smile.  “But you certainly are by choice.”

Stiles was taken aback and stared at her, his mouth hanging slightly open.  Before he could respond, Laura was leaning forward and asking him about his thoughts on women’s rights in different cultures, and Laura’s comment about him and Scott was quickly forgotten.  For now.

When he rolled her words over in his head later that night, he supposed that yeah, Scott was like a brother to him.  He’d always been by his side throughout everything, always accepted him for who he was.  And it was rare to have the same best friend for so long.  At least, according to his father.  But Beacon Hills was a relatively small town and Scott and Stiles had always _clicked_ and their friendship was uncomplicated.  Of course they’d still be friends after all this time, still be able to tell each other everything.

That’s why he picked up his phone and called Scott right then and there.

Scott picked up on the third ring. 

“What’s up?  It’s not even the weekend and you’re calling me?  Something must be up,” Scott joked. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, despite Scott being unable to see him.  “You remember the Hales?” Stiles said instead, sidestepping Scott’s questions.

“The Hales?”  Stiles could practically hear the frown in Scott’s voice.  “The Hale fire?”

“Yep, those’re the ones.” 

“What about them?” he asked cautiously.

“Nothing.  I mean,” he nibbled his bottom lip.  It wasn’t like this was _important_ information or anything.  He just . . . wanted to tell someone.  And he didn’t want to tell Allison ‘cause, well, it was her aunt and grandfather who were charged for the murder of Laura and Derek’s family.  That was an awkward conversation waiting to happen.  “I just forgot to tell you that they’re here,” he said.  “In Berkley.  Laura’s my senior seminar professor.”

“What, seriously?”

“Yeah.  She’s cool, I like her.” 

“Right,” Scott said, suspicious.  “That’s not the only thing you called me for. 

Ah, proof that Scott did indeed know Stiles and that his head wasn’t always in the clouds.  “Weeeeell,” he dragged out the word, a smile tugging at his lips.  “Derek’s here, too.”

“Okaaay?” he said, still confused.  Then, “Oh my god, Stiles.  Are you serious?”

There it was.  “He’s really hot now,” he said unabashedly.  “Not that he wasn’t before?  I dunno, I don’t really remember, actually.”

Scott made a noise in the back of his throat.  “So?  David was hot and look at what an asshole he turned out to be.”

Stiles winced but shook it off quickly.  “I didn’t say that I wanted anything from him,” he said.  “Okay,” he amended before Scott could call him out on his bullshit.  “So I might be objectifying him a little, but whatever, I’m allowed that, right?”

Scott huffed and Stiles knew that he was rolling his eyes.  “Sure, Stiles.”

“Besides, if it ever comes to that,” he paused, looking out his window.  “I think Laura would warn me off him if anything.”

Scott laughed.  “Are you that close to her already?” 

“I do see her twice a week for the seminar,” he said sarcastically.  “And we hang out in her office maybe three times a week.”

“Hang out.”

“Fine, talk about sex and sexuality and women’s rights and all that jazz.”

“And Derek comes into this how?”

“He was there,” Stiles said, thinking back on the afternoon, how Derek looked in his jeans and leather jacket.  He didn’t really know where this conversation was going; he just wanted to talk.  “When I went to Laura’s office today.  I dunno, man, I’m just telling you that I’d climb him like a tree if I could.”

“Ugh, _Stiles_ ,” Scott said, sounding put-upon and Stiles cackled.  It’s not like Scott ever spared details of his and Allison’s sex life.  Sometimes _Stiles_ was the one who had to get him to shut up.  It was usually the other way around.  “Just be careful, okay?”

“I’m always careful.”  He paused and licked his lips.  “When it matters.”

Scott sighed and changed the subject, which Stiles allowed and they talked for another hour before hanging up.  Stiles lay in bed for a while longer before he got up to brush his teeth and stripped down to his underwear.  He snugged himself under the covers and weighed his options.  Derek was eye candy, Stiles wasn’t going to deny that, but someone as attractive as Derek probably wouldn’t look twice at Stiles.  Not that Stiles thought Derek was close-minded; if his sister was into women studies and LGBT rights, Stiles was sure that Derek had the same views.  Laura was the type to fight fiercely for what she believes in, even if she had to fight against family.  And Derek and Laura seemed to share a close relationship.

So as far as Stiles could see, he could either 1) hope that Derek’s visit was a once in a blue moon visit so Stiles wouldn’t have to worry about tripping over himself or running into pillars, or 2) ignore it, forget about it, move on.  He was good at the latter.  Exceptionally good.  And it wasn’t like he could flirt with the idea that Derek might actually be _interested_.  No, Stiles doubted it.  Derek may be accepting, but he didn’t seem like the type to like _Stiles’_ type.

Different.  Weird.  Freak.

Yeah, ignoring it seemed like the best option.  Stiles turned over and sighed, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

^

Needless to say, Stiles’ plan backfired because he saw Derek around campus more often in the following weeks.  He didn’t know if Derek was actually _attending_ Berkley or was just here because of Laura.  What did he even do for him to have time to come to campus practically every other day?  Regardless of Derek’s reasons, he really wasn’t helping Stiles’ attempt to ignore the problem.

Stiles would visit Laura, and Derek would be lounging in one of the chairs.  Stiles would walk across the quad between classes and he’d see Derek toting two coffees in the direction of Laura’s office.  Once, Laura and Derek were in the library bickering in hushed voices and Stiles wasn’t sure if he should go over to say hi or bypass them and be on his way.  Derek had looked up, though, before Stiles could decide and they held gazes for long moments, and Stiles felt his face heat and arousal pool in the pit of his stomach.  He bid a hasty retreat after greeting them awkwardly, cursing himself for his idiocy.

One day Stiles was working on his essay on the history of sex and sexuality in his favorite coffee shop just off campus when Stiles’ plan to Ignore the Problem completely fell through.  He was sitting by the window nibbling absently on the end of his pen and poking half-heartedly at his keyboard when someone slid into the chair across of him.  Stiles looked up and nearly choked and died on his spit.  It was Derek, and he was looking at him with a blank expression, though Stiles swore he was laughing at him on the inside – those eyebrows and those eyes were definitely not just _indifferent_.

“Uh, Derek, hi.  What – what’re you doing here?” he babbled.  This was the first time he actually _spoke_ to the guy and of course Stiles would make a fool of himself.  Of course.

Derek shrugged.  “Laura likes to send me on coffee runs.”

Stiles glanced at the table where there was a tall cup of coffee sitting innocently next to one of his notebooks.  Derek held another cup in his hand, bringing it up to his lips to take a sip.  “Uh, yeah, I’ve seen you,” Stiles said, then winced and blushed at how that must have sounded.  But Derek simply raised an eyebrow.  “Shouldn’t you, uh, get that to her, then?” 

Derek looked at him, Laura’s coffee, then back to him.  “She can wait.”

His jaw dropped and Derek’s lip quirked and _damnit_ , he knew Derek was laughing at him, the jerk.  “Okay?” he said hesitantly.

Derek nodded to his computer, “What are you working on?”

Stiles looked back down to the screen of his laptop where he only had his introduction written.  “An essay,” he said stupidly.  Then added, “On the history of sex and sexuality.  I know what I want to write but I just can’t . . .” he made vague gestures with his hands while he dug around for the proper word.

“Articulate it?”

“Condense it.”

They said at the same time.  Stiles blinked at Derek and a full smile was threatening to make an appearance on Derek’s face, and Stiles _really wanted_ it to happen. 

“Right,” he said, staring at Derek unabashedly.  He’d let his stubble grow out a bit, and Stiles kind of liked it.  No, he _really_ liked it.  It made him look more . . . fierce.  Derek was already a head turner – Stiles could see out of the corner of eye several women throwing appreciative glances his way – but with the dark hair and stubble and leather jacket and jeans, he looked downright _edible_.

“How long does it have to be?”

“What?”  Stiles startled out of his stupor. 

“The essay,” Derek said patiently.

“Oh, uh.  Five to ten pages double spaced.” 

His brow furrowed and Stiles watched in fascination.  “That’s not nearly enough – ”

“To fit in all the cool stuff,” Stiles interrupted.  “I know, right!”

Derek huffed, amused.  “What exactly are you writing about?” 

“How wishy-washy everyone was about the whole thing.”

Derek raised an eyebrow – _again_ – his lip quirking up – _again_.  “I’m sure you’ll be much more eloquent in your writing.”

“Well, duh,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. 

Derek rolled his eyes right back.  Damn, Stiles liked him.  A lot.  “Then, how about this – ”

And Derek started offering his ideas on Stiles could fit the stuff he wanted into a ten-page essay.  They talked for so long that Stiles ended up drinking Laura’s lukewarm coffee and Derek had to buy another one.  He didn’t look putout, though.  When he packed up a few hours later, Derek waited for him at the door, Laura’s fresh coffee in hand, and they headed to her office together.

“So not to be, like, nosy or anything – ”

“Which is always a roundabout way to say ‘I’m about to be nosy’,” Derek cut him off.

“Shut up,” Stiles scowled and Derek shot him an amused look.  Okay, so Derek was not only drop dead gorgeous, he was also incredibly intelligent (not that Stiles didn’t think otherwise; he just had a wealth of random knowledge that even _Stiles_ was taken by surprise), sharp, witty, and they shared a similar sense of humor.  They’d only be talking for a few hours and Stiles felt like he didn’t have to worry about accidentally coming off as condescending or rude.  ‘Cause it’s happened before.  And Stiles felt a little bad for it, but he refused to be someone he wasn’t, not after the first sixteen years of his life. 

“You were saying?” Derek said, breaking through his thoughts. 

“What?  Oh.”  He shrugged, “I was just wondering about, y’know, everything.”  He waved a hand in Derek’s direction. 

“Everything,” he deadpanned.

Stiles grinned cheekily.  “Don’t you?”

Derek stared at him for a moment then shook his head, that ghost of a smile on his lips.  Stiles thought that it’ll be his mission to see Derek smile, _actually_ smile.  He’s sure it’s as gorgeous as the rest of him.  And that’s when Stiles realized, despite still not really _knowing_ Derek at all, that he was in deep.  He could either put a stop to it now, or . . .  Stiles side-eyed Derek, his scruff, his cheekbones.  Or he could _not_.

He liked Derek.  He liked _Laura_.  And it would be difficult for Stiles to ignore either of them when one was his professor.  He could just stew in his emotions, it’s not like he hadn’t done it before.  And, at the very least, maybe he and Derek could be friends.

When they arrived at Laura’s office door, Derek stepped in front of him and entered first.  Good thing, too, ‘cause the first thing Laura did was chuck her stapler at Derek’s head.  Derek caught it easily, though, and Stiles had to wonder if this happened often enough that Derek’s gotten used to it, polished his reflexes so he wouldn’t get brained by random flying stationary.

“I sent you to get coffee two hours ago!”

Stiles stifled his amusement and bit his lip, desperately wanted to say jokingly ‘Well, you’re not the boss of him,’ but he didn’t know where that would put him in Laura’s graces and besides – he peeked around Derek – she didn’t seem particularly _mad_.  Just amused.  And knowing.

Knowing?  Of what?

“Got sidetracked,” Derek said blithely.  He walked further into the room, placed the stapler back on her desk and handed Laura her coffee.  She raised an eyebrow and Derek raised his back.  They seemed to have a silent conversation and Stiles looked back and forth between the siblings.  The weird telepathic mind meld thing lasted only a few moments, but Stiles swore that it was longer.

Laura looked over to Stiles, still hovering at the doorway.  “I hope my brother didn’t bother you too much.”

“Er, no?” he said.  “He helped me out on one my essays, actually.”

“Oh?” Laura said, amused and intrigued.  Derek rolled his eyes and sat in one of the chairs in front of Laura’s desk.  “Derek always tries to look cool and unapproachable, but he’s really a huge nerd and giant teddy bear,” she teased. 

Derek glared at his sister, a light blush on his cheeks – and yeah, Stiles liked how embarrassment looked on him – and Stiles grinned widely.  “I knew it.”

“You should go bother him in the library if you ever need more help,” Laura continued.

“Laura,” Derek growled. 

“You work at the library?” he blurted, pleasantly surprised.

Derek looked over to him and raised an eyebrow.  “Why else would I be on campus so often?”

“Uh,” he said stupidly.  “I dunno.  I thought, y’know, that you were just visiting your sister.”

“Aww, Der, he thought you were coming to visit me.”

Derek scowled, baring his teeth.  Stiles did not think that was hot.  He did _not_.  . . . Okay, maybe he did.  But only a little.

“Am I missing something?” he asked, feeling out-of-the-loop.

“ _Nothing_ ,” Derek said, giving Laura a pointed look.  They did the creepy telepathy thing again and Laura shrugged and dropped it.

“Right,” he said, feeling his mood deflate a little.  “I’m just gonna – ” he pointed over his shoulder at the door.  Derek gave him a mildly concerned look but he shook it off and waved awkwardly and slipped into the hallway before either of the siblings could reel him back in.

He didn’t know what it was, but he felt like they were sharing a secret and that secret had something to do with _him_.  And Stiles hated secrets.  Secrets only ever led to lies and betrayal and heartbreak and Stiles didn’t want anything to do with that ever again.  When he put it that way, it was implying that Stiles didn’t want to get close to anyone, make any more friends.  Which, he supposed, was true.  He’s made friends at Berkley, sure, but there were only a select few he let himself really open up to.  Alex was one of them (even though he lived in San Francisco) and Laura was fast becoming another.

How awkward would it become, though, with Laura as one of his closest friends he _trusted_ and Derek as the brother he kind of wanted in every way possible?  Kind of really awkward, he thought.

Stiles sighed and continued walking to his dorm room.  Today had been an emotionally trying day and he doesn't want to think anymore.  He deserved a nap.  Or a chocolate bar.  Or maybe he should go bother Allison or call up Scott.  Anything to take his mind off of how incredibly screwed he was.

^

He ended up going to the library a few days later to study, feeling both anxious and ridiculous.  Stiles hadn’t seen Derek since their run in at the coffee shop and he hadn’t had time to visit Laura in the interim, either.  He kind of hoped that Derek wasn’t working so he wouldn’t have to deal with his emotions and hormones getting away with him. 

Stiles slipped past the front desk and headed towards the history stacks.  He breathed a sigh of relief when he found an empty table and started to unload his bag.  Maybe he’d actually get a full study session in before he felt the urge to hide back in his room and just avoid everything.  Sometimes avoidance worked out relatively well.

He opened his books and started to read.  A few hours later, he was standing and stretching the kinks out of his back when he glanced over to the stacks and nearly had a heart attack.  Derek was showing a starry eyed girl through one of the aisles, looking bored and put-upon.  The girl was trying to keep his attention and was, to Stiles’ amusement, failing spectacularly.  Stiles shouldn’t feel vindictive joy at seeing Derek try to brush off her advances, but he really was.

Derek must have heard him hold back a snort, because he looked over to Stiles and raised an eyebrow.  Stiles couldn’t help but grin and wave jauntily at him, give him a thumbs up and exaggerated wink.  Derek glared, but Stiles could see the faint quirk of his lip that told him that Derek was just as amused as he was.  He pondered for a moment whether he should put Derek out of his misery and help him out, but Stiles was kind of a jerk and he was enjoying himself too much.  Schadenfreude.

It took longer than expected – the girl was damn persistent – but eventually Derek shook her off and he stalked over to Stiles, a look of annoyance and relief on his face.

“Damn, son, teach me your moves,” Stiles joked.

Derek huffed and rolled his eyes.  “I particularly hate the ones who refuse to take a hint,” he said, ignoring Stiles’ comment. 

“Can you blame them, though?” Stiles asked wryly.

Derek raised an eyebrow.  “I’m not interested in people who only want me for my looks.” 

“‘Cause your sparkling personality is certainly a catch.”

“Obviously.”

“Woah, there.  Better tone down that sarcasm, buddy, you’ll scare off all your suitors.”

“Haven’t scared you off yet.” 

Stiles stared, blinked.  His jaw dropped, his heartbeat stuttered.  What.  Did Derek just _flirt_ with him?  Holy crap.  The coffee shop was one thing – Derek was helping him with school, damnit, that’s all; and Stiles refused to think of it as anything else, even if they kind of _did_ flirt a little – but a blatant come on like that?  What the hell was Stiles supposed to think? 

“Uh,” he said dumbly.  “Maybe ‘cause I’m not?” he lied.

Another quirk of his lip; damn, Derek knew he was lying.  Whatever, he could roll with it.  “ _Anyway_ ,” Stiles said pointedly.  “Shouldn’t you get back to work?” 

Derek shrugged, “I’m off the clock.”

Stiles frowned, “Then – ”

“My boss thought it’d be funny.” 

“It certainly was,” Stiles grinned.  As much as he didn’t like seeing someone try to flirt with Derek, the _attempt_ was amusing regardless.  Especially when Derek was patently uninterested.

Derek rolled his eyes then nodded over to the table Stiles had commandeered.  “What are you working on this time?”

Stiles looked over his shoulder at his mess.  He winced inwardly.  “Just reading.  Kind of went overboard.” 

“Clearly.”

Stiles huffed, “All right, grouchy pants.”  He strode over to his stuff and started shoving his things into his bag.

“What are you doing?”

“I need a break.  So we’re going to get a coffee.”  Once he offered, he kicked himself mentally.  What a terrible idea.  That meant more time trying to _not_ stare at Derek and reminding himself how much of a very bad idea it was to fall for the guy.  He could make a list several pages long why it was a bad idea.  Stiles was good at lists.

“Are we?” Derek said, amused, coming up behind Stiles and plucking a book from his hand.  He opened it and skimmed through it, checked the front page and raised an eyebrow, pinned Stiles with a look.  “You didn’t even check this one out,” he accused.

“Then go check it out for me,” Stiles said, waving him away.

“And the ones in your bag?” 

“Er,” he stammered guiltily.

Derek sighed, “You know, we kind of hate your type of people.”

“My type of people?” Stiles laughed.  “Only kind of?” 

“Especially sarcastic little shits like you,” he amended, deadpan.

“Hey, I am a _delight_ ,” Stiles smirked.

Derek’s lip quirked.  Score one for Stiles.  “Could be better if there was an off switch to your mouth.”

“Nope, never,” Stiles grinned, the banter coming easy.  “It’s a package deal, baby.  Take it or leave it.” 

Derek looked him up and down and Stiles suddenly felt warm and _scrutinized_.  He licked his lips nervously and he watched Derek track his tongue with his eyes.  “I think I could handle it.”  Then he threw Stiles a smirk and turned and walked away.  _The fucker_.

Stiles took several deep, calming breaths before he followed Derek, checking out his ass while he caught up with him simply because he could.  So Derek was either actually interested in Stiles or he was just toying with him.  Or it was both.  David happened, so it could definitely be both.  Stiles didn’t want it to be both, he’d much prefer if it was just the former; it’d definitely make him feel better about himself.  Derek didn’t seem like the type to play with someone’s feelings, though.  And like he’d told Scott – he’s sure Laura would warn Stiles off him if it were the case.

He assumed that Derek knew that he was transgender.  Stiles didn’t know how much Laura shared with her brother; he didn’t broadcast it but he also didn’t hide it if someone asked, but they were close and maybe they shared everything with each other.  Well, if that were true, then maybe he could wheedle information out of Laura about Derek.

But how awkward would that conversation be?  “Hey, Laura, so I kinda want to know your brother in _the biblical sense_ but can you first tell me if he, y’know, would mind that I kind of have a pussy instead of a cock?”  Yeah, that wouldn’t go over well.

He sighed and walked a little faster to catch up with Derek, who was chatting amicably with the librarian at the front desk.  Pining it was, then.  He could do pining.

Derek held out a hand as he approached and Stiles smacked it with his own.  He immediately regretted it.  Derek was _warm_.  Like, incredibly warm.  Stiles barely touched him for a second and he could feel Derek’s body heat seep into his skin, engulf the entirety of his hand, creep up his arm.  He shivered involuntarily.  Yeah, he was definitely screwed.

“No, idiot,” Derek said, rolling his eyes, but with that faint hint of a smile.  “Your bag.”

“Oh.”  Stiles flushed and wriggled his backpack off his back and plunked it down on the counter.  The librarian gave him an amused look and Stiles grinned cheekily.

“This is Kali, my boss,” Derek introduced.  “Stiles, Kali.”

Stiles wiggled his fingers in hello.  She was pretty; long, dark hair, tanned skin, _a woman_.  Normal.  Stiles was an awkward in between.

“Stiles,” Kali greeted.  “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Have you?  Only good things, I hope,” he joked.  It was easy to hide behind humor and snark when Stiles was feeling less-than-stellar.  He’s done it all his life.

“Depends,” she said, smiling.  “Derek and Laura are giving me two very different accounts on the type of person you are.”

“Well, I guess that just adds to the mystery,” he smirked, and he heard Derek snort beside him.  He turned to glare at him, but Derek shot him a wide-eyed innocent look.

Kali shook her head and returned to scanning the books Stiles had stuffed haphazardly in his bag.  Stiles fiddled with the hem of his shirt as they waited and Derek idly rearranged random things behind the counter.  He watched Derek’s hands as he started to put the books back into Stiles’ bag.  His hands were pretty.  He’d be lying if Stiles said he hadn’t already had a few dreams about them, touching and caressing his body, unperturbed by how _different_ Stiles was.

As David had described so eloquently, ‘looks like a dude, acts like a dude, talks like a dude, and most of his body is like a dude, ‘cept he has a pussy’.  Ironically, he’d been the most comfortable with his body while he was with David, because he’d thought that someone truly wanted him despite his shortcomings.  Alex had helped to boost his self-esteem and body image, but before David he was always a little unsure.  It was a strange disparity; Stiles would never rescind his decision to take hormones in high school because nothing felt more uncomfortable than being female, but he also didn’t feel like he quite belonged.

Now, _because_ David happened . . . Stiles closed himself off.  More than usual.  But Derek was changing that so effortlessly, and Stiles wasn’t sure what to think of it, what to do. 

“Stiles.” 

He startled and snapped his eyes to Derek’s, who had a slight frown on his lips and a mild look of concern.  Derek had Stiles’ bag slung over his shoulder, and Kali had disappeared somewhere.  Stiles shook his head and plastered a grin on his face.

“I’m good,” he said, but Derek looked doubtful.  “Let’s go.”  Stiles marched out of the library and Derek trailed behind, and Stiles could practically _feel_ the questioning gaze Derek was boring into the back of his head.  He ignored it.

The walk to the coffee shop was quiet, Stiles stewing in his own thoughts and Derek . . . he didn’t know what Derek was doing.  Or thinking.  And he didn’t really want to.

By the time they slid into a two-person booth, Stiles worked himself into a state of nervous anticipation.  His heart was hammering in his chest, his hands clammy, his fingers fidgeting.  Derek gave him a careful look and asked, “Are you okay?”

“You know I’m a trans man, right?” Stiles blurted, unable to hold it in anymore.  He liked Derek and wanted them to be friends at the very least, but he felt he couldn’t do that unless all the cards were on the table.  All of _his_ cards.  Only his closest friends – Scott, Allison, Alex; even Danny, Lydia, Jackson, and Laura – knew he was transgender and it was one of the most important things for them to accept before Stiles could even consider friendship.  The friends he made at Berkeley were more like acquaintances; he never shared more than he needed to.  Though he wanted Derek as more than a friend, Stiles could settle for anything Derek was willing to give.

Derek blinked, confused.  “I do,” he said hesitantly. 

Stiles licked his lips.  “Right.  Laura tell you?” 

“Yes and no.”  His brow furrowed as he scrutinized him.  “Why?”

He fiddled with his cup then took a sip of his coffee, winced when he burned his tongue.  “It’s nothing,” he mumbled. 

Derek raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but he didn’t push.  Stiles was grateful for that.  He let Derek steer the conversation elsewhere and Stiles started to relax, falling back into their easy banter.  They talked for hours, losing track of time, and when Stiles noticed how late it was, he reluctantly took his leave.  Before he did, however, Derek stopped him and asked for his number.  Stiles gave it to him, and couldn’t help the tiny bubble of hope that blossomed in his chest.  Derek shot him a small smile, like he knew exactly what Stiles was thinking, and Stiles left the coffee shop with a slight spring to his step.

Screw the fact that Derek was way out of his league.  He could be happy for this.

^

They spent more and more time together thereafter.  Derek would drop by the coffee shop while Stiles was studying, Stiles would bother him at work, they’d text each other random tidbits of their day, and Stiles would always go to bed smiling goofily.

Stiles had Derek’s schedule memorized, and he’d go by the library after Derek shifts and thrust a still hot cup of coffee at him before they wandered around the quad aimlessly, talking about anything that came to mind.  Likewise, Derek seemed to have memorized Stiles’ schedule as well, and would occasionally pay Stiles back in kind.  Stiles would be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart soar and his insides giddy whenever he saw Derek standing in the hallway outside one of his lecture halls.  When Derek was in Laura’s office when Stiles came to visit, they ended up talking to each other more than Stiles would with Laura.  Laura didn’t seem to mind, though.  She always had a small, amused smile on her lips as she graded papers while Stiles and Derek threw friendly insults at each other.

Stiles discovered more of Derek’s quirks, like how he liked finding second hand books that looked worn and loved, but whenever he bought his own books, he took meticulous care for them.  Or how he wasn’t really a morning person but he’d forced himself into a routine and he stuck to it.  Or how he liked indie and foreign language films because they tended to be more realistic than Hollywood.  Or how he had a secret love for baking (Stiles found this out because of Laura, who had a few muffins on her desk one time he visited her, and when he asked where they’re from she simply shrugged and answered “Derek”).  Or how he had a bit of a sweet tooth.  Or how Stiles started to notice that there was a special look Derek would give him when he was being particularly weird, a mixture of amusement, fondness, and incredulity.

And, surprisingly, Derek didn’t seem put off by Stiles’ antics that were usually an annoyance.  Like how he’d run his mouth when he was particularly passionate about a subject.  Or how he liked to interrupt and correct people when they got a particular fact wrong.  Or how he liked to sing along to songs regardless of whether he was in public or not.  Or how he’d sometimes break out dancing ‘cause he just felt like it and had excess energy.  Or how he couldn’t keep _still_.

Derek still wanted to hang out with him, and Stiles couldn’t get enough.

Once Stiles even made Derek laugh.  Full on _laugh_ ; head bowed down, eyes clenched shut, mouth opened wide, uncontrollable _laugh_.  Stiles preened for hours later, much to Derek’s chagrin (and amusement).  He even called up Scott that night to share his accomplishment.  Scott hadn’t been too enthused, especially since midterms were coming up and Stiles had called after midnight.  It didn’t matter to Stiles, though.  ‘Cause Stiles achieved his goal to make Derek smile and his next goal was to do it as often as possible.  Especially now that he has an inkling on what sets Derek off, Stiles thought he has a pretty good chance at succeeding.

Thanksgiving came and went, and by the time finals and winter break rolled around, Stiles’ little crush on Derek was not so little anymore and Stiles, though he knew he was just setting himself up for disappointment, couldn’t stop it and a part of him didn’t want to.  He was happy.  Actually, genuinely happy.  Even if they were just friends, Stiles thought he could live with it.  Because Stiles wouldn’t have Derek in his life otherwise. 

The day after Stiles’ last final and the day before he and Allison headed back to Beacon Hills, Stiles infiltrated Laura’s office and flopped down on one the chairs, sighing dramatically.

“Over and done with?”

“Thank God,” Stiles muttered.

Laura chuckled.  “You heading home for the holidays?” she asked, turning back to the papers strewn across her desk.

Stiles grunted in affirmative, “Leaving tomorrow with Allison.”

“Not Allison Argent,” Laura said, her tone suddenly sharp.  Stiles jumped in his seat, and he immediately straightened in his chair.  _Crap_ , did he just accidentally out the fact that he’s friends with an Argent?  The same family that started the Hale fire all those years ago and killed eleven people?  Good job, Stiles.

“Uh,” he said stupidly.

“Sorry,” Laura said, pursing her lips.  She tapped the pen against her desk, a contemplative, worried look on her face.

“She and Scott have been dating since high school,” Stiles said, feeling a need to explain.  He fidgeted and plucked at the hem of his shirt.  “Sorry for bringing her up,” he mumbled.

“No,” Laura sighed.  “It’s fine.”  A beat of silence, then, “Does Derek know?” 

“Know that I’m friends with an Argent?”  Laura nodded.  “I don’t think so.”  Laura closed her eyes in what Stiles could only describe as relief.  Stiles frowned and bit his lip.  There had to be more to the story than just Kate and Gerard Argent burning down the Hale house, especially with a reaction like that.  And what did Derek have to do with it?  “Why is that important?” he said.

Laura shook her head.  “It’s not in my place to tell you,” she answered.  “I would say that you shouldn’t look into it, but I know you and I know that you’re going to dig through your father’s files once you get home.”  Laura lip quirked fondly, “And I can’t stop you from doing that.”

“Okaaay,” he said, confused.  There was definitely something he doesn’t remember about the Hale fire.  And Laura was right; now that his curiosity was piqued, come hell or high water he’d figure it out.  But if it had to do with Derek . . .  “Should I – ” he hedged, licked his lips.  “Should I not tell him?  About Allison?”

Laura shook her head, “That’s entirely up to you.”  She gave him a small, sad smile.  “I’m actually surprised you remember the incident at all.”

Stiles shrugged.  “I can empathize with losing someone you love.”  Not in the same magnitude, granted, but Stiles _knew_ how numbing it was, how confusing and painful.

They fell into silence, Laura fiddling with her pen, a thoughtful expression on her face, and Stiles watched her.  Stiles had a feeling that the Hales and the Argents have more of a connection than the siblings let on.  Laura had been _worried_ and startled when Stiles mentioned Allison – and he hadn’t even said her last name.  They must’ve known each other if Laura knew who he had been talking about.  And for Laura to bring up Derek . . . there had to be something else.

He stood abruptly, his mind abuzz with theories and speculation.  Laura glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow.  “I – uh, I have to go pack,” he said lamely.

Laura gave him an indulgent smile.  “All right, I’ll see you after break.” 

Stiles nodded, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure.  “Um, about the Argents – ” he started.

“Derek likes you, Stiles,” Laura interrupted him, pinning him with a look.  Stiles swallowed, his cheeks heating at the scrutiny.  “He’ll kill me if he knew I told you this,” she said, letting out a small chuckle, “But I’ve never seen him like this with anyone.  I just hope that, when you read your father’s files, your opinion on him won’t change.  I don’t want to see him hurt again.”

Stiles licked his lips and nodded jerkily, not really knowing what he was agreeing to.  “Nothing will change my opinion on him.” 

Laura gave him a sad smile.  “I hope so.”

He may not know yet what had happened between the Argents and the Hales, but he knew for a fact that he was digging up everything he possibly could on the Hale fire once he got back to Beacon Hills.  And he’d prove to Laura – and Derek – that whatever he found wouldn’t change a thing between them.

^

The drive to Beacon Hills was quiet.  Stiles didn’t mention the Hales or his intention to look into Allison’s family – why would he? – and Allison was doing her best to curb her pent-up excitement at seeing Scott again.  Though Laura had hoped that his opinion on Derek wouldn’t change, Stiles was actually worried about his opinion on Allison.  Whatever he found, he hoped that Allison had nothing to do with it.  As far as Stiles could remember, it hadn’t been a secret when Kate and Gerard were arrested and sent to the district office to be tried and charged – it’d been all over the news, actually.  An event that big happening in such a small town threw Beacon Hills in the spotlight for several months.  Chris and Victoria Argent hadn’t even moved to Beacon Hills until well after the jury had given its verdict.  Nearly seven years, in fact.  So Allison probably only knew the stories and not the reasons.  And, well, she would’ve been ten years old when the fire happened; he highly doubted someone that young played any part in arson and first-degree murder.

After Stiles dropped Allison off at her house, he headed to the Sheriff’s department.  His father was likely working himself dry in anticipation for Stiles’ return.  He’d have to have a word with John about that.  Stiles did have an ulterior motive, though: the Hale fire folders.  He didn’t quite know how he was going to pull it off yet, but he needed those files.  The easiest way was probably to just _ask_ for access, but Stiles doesn’t think John would approve.  He could try anyway, and if it failed, he’d steal them.  It wasn’t ideal, but Stiles was _curious_.  Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time.

He pulled in to one of the stalls and killed the Jeep’s engine.  Stiles took a breath before jumping out of the car and making his way into the building.  The deputy looked up when he walked in, smiling when he recognized Stiles and waved.  Stiles returned the wave and strode up to the counter. 

“John’s in his office,” the deputy said.  Stiles doesn’t remember his name. 

“Thanks,” Stiles grinned, and headed down the hallway.  He peeked into John’s office and saw him poring over reports and maps.  Stiles knocked on the doorjamb.  John looked up, his eyes tired, but they immediately brightened when he saw Stiles, and Stiles couldn’t help the grin from appearing on his lips; he missed his father.

“Stiles!”  John stood and came around his desk and Stiles met him halfway, and they pulled each other into a hug.  “I didn’t think you were coming in until later.”

“We got an early start,” he explained, burrowing his face into John’s shoulder.

“Well, I can finish up here and be ready to go in a few,” he pulled away from the embrace and waved vaguely at his messy desk.

“Actually,” Stiles said, licking his lips.  Now or never.  “I was wondering if I could access some old case files?”

John raised an eyebrow.  “Why?” he said dubiously.

“I just – ”  He debated for a moment if he should lie, but he and John had shared a relatively open relationship, especially after Stiles started taking hormones, and he didn’t want to break that trust now.  “You remember the Hales?” he said.  “Laura Hale is my seminar professor at Berkley,” he continued without waiting for John’s answer.  “And I’m kind of really good friends with her and Derek now?” he finished in a question, not really sure where he was going with that explanation.

“The Hales,” John repeated, his voice flat.  Stiles nodded, biting his bottom lip.  “You want the case files of the Hale fire.”

“I – yes?” he tried.

John sighed and crossed his arms in front of his chest.  “I’m not supposed to give anyone access to those files who aren’t employed in the precinct,” he started.  Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but John held up a hand to stop him.  He snapped his jaw closed with an audible click.  “However, I know you and if there was one thing I learned from your past shenanigans with Scott, it’s that trying to keep you from something when you’re really determined is just asking for trouble.”  John raised his other eyebrow, pinning Stiles with a look that managed to be both judgmental and amused.  “And since the Hale fire is a closed case, I doubt that you can really stick your nose anywhere it doesn’t belong.  So I’ll bend the rules, but _I’ll_ take them out of the vault and bring them home so it’s still technically legal, deal?”

Stiles grinned, “Yes, sir.” 

John shook his head, a small smile on his lips.  “No idea where I went wrong with you,” he said fondly, reaching out and ruffling Stiles’ hair.

Stiles laughed, batted John’s hand away playfully.  “You know when,” he accused, grinning.  “It was the day you took me into the woods and tried to teach me how to shoot a handgun.”

“Don’t know what I was thinking,” John said, grimacing.

“I don’t either.  I was _six_.  Mom was furious when she found out.”

John let out a bark of laughter.  “That she was.  I’m telling you, son, that woman was a _fireball_ when she’s angry.”  His eyes glazed over, reminiscing.  Stiles smiled sadly.  John never dated again after Claudia passed away, didn’t even take off his wedding ring.  Stiles had felt a little guilty when he first left for Berkley because his father had nobody else, and he’d be alone in a house full of memories.  John had assured him that he was fine and he seemed well enough, but Stiles knew that John was lonely.  His father would never admit it, but Stiles could tell that John lived for the times Stiles came home.

Stiles had brought it up once but John had rebuffed him.  He never mentioned it again.  As much as Stiles appreciated his father’s unwavering love and devotion for Claudia, Stiles thought it was time for John to start looking for someone else – for companionship at the very least.  Stiles wasn’t going to stay in Beacon Hills, as much as John wished it, and Stiles hated the idea of John spending the majority of the rest of his life alone.

Maybe it was time for some intervention.  He’d rope Scott into it, too, if he had to. 

Speaking of Scott . . . now _there’s_ an idea. 

“Hey, Dad?”  John blinked out of his reverie and focused his attention on Stiles.  “I’m gonna go bother Scott.  You finish up whatever you need to,” he gestured to John’s desk, “And I’ll be back for dinner.  Okay?”

“Bother Scott,” John huffed.  “I hope that’s not code for ‘screwing around in the woods’.” 

Stiles snorted, “Not this time, promise.”

“All right, then.”  John shooed him away, laughing.  “But I swear if I hear anything fishy on the scanner I’m calling you up first.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Stiles winked and backed out of John’s office.  “I’ll see you later!” he called out as he darted down the hallway.  He waved at the deputy before exiting the building and hopping back into his Jeep.

Stiles pulled out his phone and called Scott; he sure as hell better not be trying to sneak into Allison’s room.  The Argents had a rule where Allison had to spend her first night back with family, _no exceptions_.  Thankfully, Scott picked up on the third ring.  “Hey, buddy,” he said, throwing the Jeep into drive and pulling into traffic.  “We need to talk.”

“Sounds ominous.”

Stiles laughed.  “Whoa there, didn’t know you knew ten-point words,” he teased.  “But nah, not at all.  I have an _idea_.”

A pause, then, “Stiles, you do know that your _ideas_ tend to get us in a heap of trouble.”

“Not this time, I swear.”

“Right,” Scott said, unconvinced.

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Look, let me at least explain it to you first?  I’m heading to yours, I’ll be there in a few.”

Scott sighed, “Yeah, all right.  Mom has the late shift tonight.”

“Perfect.”

“This idea of yours is sounding more and more _ominous_ by the second,” Scott said.

“Can’t help what you do and don’t hear, Scotty.”

Scott huffed, “I’m hanging up on you now.”

“What – ” he squawked, but was cut off by a dial tone.  Stiles pulled his phone away from his ear and scowled.  “ _Rude_.”  He huffed and shoved his phone back in his pocket.  “Someone’s throwing a hissy fit,” he mumbled.  The drive to Scott’s was short, and once Stiles parked the Jeep, he threw himself out of the car and barreled up the steps, barging in through the front doors. 

“Scotty!” he yelled, meandering to the kitchen.  “Your bestest favoritest friend is here to cheer you up.  C’mon grumpy pants, don’t make me threaten you with chocolate syrup and pudding!”

“Oh my god,” Scott wailed from the second floor.

Stiles cackled and trotted out of the kitchen, and started up the stairs, taking them two at a time.  He found Scott in his room on his bed, sulking.  “You’re never going to let me live that one down, are you?”

“Nope,” Stiles grinned, walking over to his friend and giving him a slap on the back.  “That’s what best friends are for, dude.”  He flopped down on the bed, spreading his limbs everywhere.  Scott huffed and poked him in the ribs.  Stiles squirmed away but didn’t get off the bed.

Scott sighed and rolled his eyes.  “So, this idea of yours.  Please tell me it doesn’t involve breaking the law, as most of your ideas tend to do.”

Stiles scoffed, “You love the adventure, Scott, don’t lie.  You’re languishing here without me.”

“It’s definitely quieter.”

“Uh huh.  Bet the silence is _deafening_.”

Scott shook his head, smiling, and shoved at him halfheartedly.  “Shut up.”  He gave Stiles an expectant look, “So?”

“So . . . ” he hedged, wondering how he should say this.  “You know how I’m not planning on moving back to Beacon Hills after I graduate, right?”

“Yeah?” Scott said, confused. 

“I’m worried about my dad.” 

Scott’s confusion disappeared immediately.  “Oh.”

Stiles sighed.  “It’s just that, I know he hopes that I’ll change my mind, but I’ve already decided.  And I don’t like the idea of him being in that huge house by himself and it just _worries_ me.”  He huffed.  “He’s lonely, I know he is.  He’d never say it.  And I’d just feel better if there was someone to look after him, y’know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Scott said softly.  “I kind of feel the same about my mom.  I mean, I don’t know if I’m going to stay yet, especially since Allison doesn’t know, either.”

Stiles stared at him hard, willing him to put the pieces together.  Maybe if it seemed like Scott thought up the idea instead of Stiles, he’d be more receptive to it.  He stared and he waited, practically seeing the gears in Scott’s mind turning.  Stiles had to bite down a grin when he saw Scott’s eyes light up. 

“Hey, d’you think maybe my mom and your dad – ” he trailed off and frowned.  “Is that weird, though?”

“Why is that weird?” Stiles asked, defensive. 

“I dunno, I mean we’ve been friends forever and _they’ve_ known each other forever.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow.  “And?”

Scott huffed in exasperation, “Don’t you think something would’ve _happened_ between them by now if they y’know.”  He made a vague gesture with his hand.

Stiles snorted.  “Fancied each other?  Wanted the D and the V?”

“Ugh, _Stiles_.  These our parents we’re talking about.”

“’S not like you spare any details for me,” Stiles rolled his eyes.

Scott glared at him.  “That’s different.”

“Uh huh.  Whatever.  Anyway.”  Stiles sat up and scooted towards the headboard so he and Scott were lying side by side.  “So _my idea_ ,” he said.  “Is to get your mom and my dad together.”  Scott opened his mouth to argue, but Stiles barreled on.  “Not necessarily romantically, but at least so they know they have someone to turn to if both of us decide to leave Beacon Hills.”  Stiles looked over to Scott.  “It wouldn’t be so hard for your mother if you decide to stay.  But my dad needs someone.  Just . . . someone to talk to at the very least.”  A pause, then Stiles continued, “I mean, I know they’re friends, always have been, but I dunno if they y’know,” he waved his hand vaguely, hoping Scott would understand what he meant. 

A contemplative look crossed Scott’s face and Stiles waited with bated breath.  “I can talk to my mom tomorrow.  I dunno when she’s coming home, though.”

“That’s cool,” Stiles said, a smile stretching across his lips.  “Thanks.”

Scott shot him an amused look, “We might actually become brothers.”

Stiles opened his mouth, closed it.  Well damn, he hadn’t thought of that.  “Huh.”

“Yeah,” Scott laughed.  “ _Huh_.”  He slapped Stiles on the back.  “Let me savor this moment: the one time I figured something out before you did.”

Stiles scowled and shoved Scott good-naturedly.  “Shut up.  I have a lot on my mind, okay?”

“Other than your dad?” he asked, eying him worriedly.

He huffed, wriggling deeper into Scott’s pillows.  “Yeah.”  Stiles bit his lip and wondered how much he should tell Scott.  He could trust that he’d keep Stiles’ relationship with the Hales secret if he asked, but Stiles almost didn’t _want_ to tell him – any more than he already has, at least.  Partially because of Allison and also because he didn’t want to stick Scott in an impossible situation if something arose between the Argents and the Hales.  Scott didn’t have a connection to the Hales, he owed them no loyalty, but _Stiles_ did.  And Scott would take that into account regardless.

. . . But maybe just this one time, he’ll keep this particular worry to himself.  “Just, y’know, Derek and how completely out my league he is,” he said instead.  It wasn’t a complete lie; he did think about it on occasion.  More than that, actually: practically every day he spoke to Derek, or texted him, or saw him.  So daily.

“If he doesn’t like you for who you are then he doesn’t deserve you, Stiles, and he’s not worth your time.”  That was Scott’s go-to whenever Stiles was feeling down.  Scott’s devotion definitely made him feel better, but sometimes it wasn’t enough.

“He’s fine with the whole trans man thing,” he said idly.  Stiles had told Scott on multiple occasions how crazy his and Derek’s relationship was.  Crazy in a good way; he wouldn’t change any of it, not for the world.

“You should just ask him,” Scott said.

Stiles sighed.  “Maybe.  But I don’t want to ruin a good thing, y’know.”

Scott shrugged, “Don’t know ‘til you try.”

“Easy for you to say,” Stiles rolled his eyes.  “Mr. I-found-the-love-of-my-life-in-high-school.  You know how rare that is?”  Stiles had always been rather jealous of Scott and Allison’s relationship.  It wasn’t perfect – no relationship was – but they certainly made it _look_ easy.  They’d been together for five, nearly six years and their bond was as strong as ever. 

“I know,” Scott winced.  “You've told me.”

“Then shut up.”

Scott snorted, turned, and unceremoniously shoved Stiles off the bed.  Stiles squawked and flailed, scrabbling at the sheets and taking the comforter down to the floor with him.  “Bed privileges are hereby revoked,” Scott cackled.

“Oh my god,” Stiles whined from his heap on the floor.  “How do you even know those words?”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Scott said, sounding affronted.  “I’m in school, too.”

“Uh huh,” he sat up and peered at Scott with narrowed eyes.  “Dunno if I like this new, _educated_ Scott.”  A smile crept up on his lips, and Scott eyed him warily from atop the bed.  “What?”

“You have that look.”

“What look?” he asked innocently.

“The look where – ”

Stiles cut him off by tackling him to the bed, and Scott squeaked in surprise, which dissolved into laughter.  They wrestled playfully until someone managed to tumble them both off the bed. 

“Ow, Jesus, you’re heavy,” Stiles complained.

“You started it,” Scott said, leaning heavily into Stiles.

Stiles groaned, the full weight of Scott taking the breath out of his lungs.  “Get offa me you heathen,” he managed.  “I’m dying.”

Scott laughed, “You’re not dying.”  But he rolled off of Stiles and settled down next to him.  They lay side by side on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, quiet.  Stiles contemplated his father, how he didn’t really have to stick his nose into John’s affairs, but it was easier to focus on and worry about someone else than himself.  When Stiles spent too much time thinking about his own problems, he usually dreamed up a myriad different scenarios of what could be, what could have been, and it drove him crazy. 

He’s spent enough time thinking about Derek – and it didn’t help that he was looking into the Hale fire over break; a part of him felt like he shouldn’t, that maybe this incident was better left alone, but he could never leave a mystery like this unsolved.  Especially when Laura practically invited him to investigate.  Well, it was more like she knew he would regardless of what she said to discourage him. 

But reading up on the Hale fire was just asking for Stiles’ overactive mind to _overthink_ , and that was a bad idea.  Because Stiles would start wondering: what was Derek like before the fire, could they have been friends if it hadn’t happened, what would’ve changed, if _Derek_ would’ve changed, if he’d still leave Beacon Hills after graduation, if Stiles would’ve been someone he’d associate with.  He’d start wondering how the fire changed him, how it made him the man Stiles has grown to know and love.

Love?

“Hey, Scott?” he said, his breath catching.  He covered it up by clearing his throat, coughing.

“Yeah?”

“I better head home.  I told dad that I’d be there for dinner.  Y’know, first night back and all.”  His heart hammered in his chest and if he didn’t get out of there right _now_ he was going to end up having a panic attack on Scott’s bedroom floor.  He sat up, patted Scott on the shoulder unseeingly, stood, and trotted toward the door, doing his best to cover his sudden jelly limbs and short breaths.

“Stiles?  You okay?” he heard Scott’s voice somewhere in the background.

“Y-yeah, I'm fine,” he stuttered, not turning around to face his friend.  “Just tired from the drive.”  Stiles clenched and unclenched his fingers to give himself something to focus on, something other than the fear roiling in his chest.  “I gotta go,” he said, and he bolted out the door, down the stairs.  He threw the front door open and stumbled toward his Jeep, fumbling for his keys.  Stiles knew he was in no state to drive, but he needed to _get out of here_.  He wretched the driver’s door open and crawled in, barely managing to insert his key into the ignition with his shaking hand.

On autopilot, he threw the Jeep into reverse, pulled out of the driveway, shifted back into drive, and careened down the street.  He couldn’t see where he was going, everything was fuzzy around the edges, but he knew innately that he was driving himself home. 

The next thing he knew, he was screeching to a stop in front of his house, and he hastily put the Jeep into park and leapt out of the car, not bothering to turn it off.  He hurried around to the back of the house and started to climb up the drainage.  His father never knew, but he always found solace on the rooftop, especially late at night when he was feeling lonely.  The first time he bothered to think about his coping technique, Stiles realized how ironic it was for him to feel comforted by the stars, when the vastness of space was the last thing one would think could help with loneliness.

When Stiles finally reached the roof, he flopped down on his back and stared at the sky.  The sun was still out and its warmth seeped into his skin and he closed his eyes.  He willed his breath and heartbeat to slow, focusing on the warmth of the sun, the warmth of the roof against his back.  If it had been nighttime, he’d have started counting the stars or naming the constellations.  But this was enough.

It took several minutes before his breathing was back to normal, and only then did he open his eyes.  He squinted at the sudden brightness and sighed.  That was . . . unexpected.

The thought of Derek Hale had set him off.  Derek Hale and . . . love.  His heart stuttered and he bit his lip.  He knew what he was getting into when they started talking, he knew the chances of falling for Derek were high, he knew that he didn’t actually have a chance with Derek but he just wanted them to be _friends_ – at least then Stiles could still have him around.

And the thing was . . . Stiles has never really been in love before.  He thought he was with Lydia in high school, maybe a little with Danny, and he could’ve been with David if he hadn’t turned out to be a huge dick.  But actually in love with someone?  Never.  Danny and Lydia were infatuations, an ideal and a dream he’d never obtain.  Sure, Derek was way out of his league, too – funnily enough, probably even more so than Danny and Lydia were – but the burning sensation in his chest was different.  He wasn’t looking for approval and regard from Derek, like he had from Lydia and Danny.  Stiles just _wanted_.  He wanted so many things he didn’t even know where to start.

 Stiles heard a car’s engine join his Jeep’s in the driveway and he heaved himself up and crawled up the roof to peek over the top.  It was his dad in his squad car, and he was getting out and eying Stiles’ still running Jeep.  Stiles couldn’t see his expression, but he was pretty sure he was both worried and exasperated.

“Hey, Dad,” he called out.

John looked up, frowned, and Stiles wiggled his fingers in hello.  “Stiles, son, what in the world are you doing up there?” 

“Oh, y’know.  Stargazing.”  John raised an eyebrow and Sties sighed.  “Give me a sec, I’ll be right down.”  He clambered down the drainage, came around to the front of the house, and ambled over to his father.  Before John could say anything, Stiles tackled him into a hug, which he immediately returned.  Stiles breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of his father, the warmth, the beating of his heart.  “‘M sorry,” he mumbled.

John patted him on the back and sighed.  “Scott called me,” he explained.  “Told me you left in a hurry and didn’t look too great.”

“And I thought I was hiding it so well,” Stiles said drily.

“Sure you were,” John said amicably, rubbing circles between Stiles’ shoulder blades.

“Can we go inside?” Stiles asked, his voice sounding small and weak to his ears.  He felt John nod against him, and he pulled away reluctantly.  John jerked his head toward the Jeep and Stiles gave him a sheepish smile, walking over to his car and killed the engine.  He jiggled his keys and walked up the stairs, John trailing behind.  Stiles unlocked the door and they went in.  John moved ahead and headed for the kitchen, and Stiles fiddled with his keys for a moment before following his father.  Now, more than ever, Stiles needed a distraction from his own problems.  “Dad?” 

John grunted, his head buried in the refrigerator.  “I think we should order in tonight, Stiles, I haven’t had time to go shopping.” 

Stiles huffed a laugh, “That’s fine.”  John nodded and closed the fridge door, opening one of the drawers and shuffling through the collection of take-out menus.  “So, I’ve been thinking,” Stiles started. 

John raised an eyebrow, still perusing the menus, “Sounds ominous.”

He wrinkled his nose, “Have you and Scott been exchanging notes or something?”

John chuckled, “No, but speaking to Scott today reminded me that I have something to tell you.”

Stiles blinked, his mouth slightly agape.  “And _that_ doesn’t sound ominous?” he asked.

“Nothing ominous from me,” John shrugged.  He picked up the phone and started dialing, the menu of the Thai place downtown in his hand. 

“Ugh, I think I’ve had enough of that word until next year.”

“Which is in a few weeks,” he pointed out.

“More than enough time to not hear that word,” Stiles pouted.  “Okay, so spill.  Before you order dinner.”

“This isn’t something I can just tell you before – ”

“Dad!” Stiles protested.

John scowled, and Stiles could hear the phone already started ringing.  “ _Later_ ,” he said, and just when Stiles was about to speak again, someone picked up the phone and John was preoccupied with ordering their dinner.  Stiles huffed and slumped against the kitchen table.  He wondered vaguely what his father had to tell him that he couldn’t just say before a phone conversation.  God, he hoped it wasn’t anything terrible; he didn’t think he could handle upsetting news right now.

His father hung up and placed the phone back in its cradle, and Stiles leaned forward expectantly.  “So?”

John sighed and shook his head.  “I meant to tell you at Thanksgiving but I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.”

“And you know how to now?”

“No, actually, I don’t,” John said, sighing.

“Is this bad news?” Stiles blurted.  “Please tell me it’s not bad news.  You’re not dying, are you?  High cholesterol?  Stress?  An aneurism?”  His voice got more panicky as he went on and John place a firm hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“Nothing like that,” John said calmly, and Stiles immediately relaxed.  He sighed again then said, “Remember that time you said that you thought I ought to start dating again?”  John removed his hand from Stiles’ shoulder and pulled a chair out and sat.

Oh my god, speak of the devil.  They were on the same page, how freaking lucky was he?  “Yeah, and?” he asked, suddenly excited, sitting down, too.  “You’re seeing someone?  Who is it?  How long?”

“Melissa McCall,” John answered, a light blush on his cheeks, embarrassed, but he looked happy.  Stiles gaped at him, and John continued unknowingly.  “It’s been several months, I just didn’t know how to tell you.  I don’t think Melissa’s told Scott yet, either.”

“Oh my fucking god!” Stiles cried.

John startled, but glared lightly at him.  “Language.”

Stiles ignored him.  “You’ve been dating Mrs. McCall for how long, and you never _told_ me?!  Dad!  Here I am getting all worried about leaving you alone after graduating and you’re just _fine_.  I was – Scott and I – _shit_ ,” he said, his eyes widening.  “You mean to tell me that all the times that you said that you were fine you were telling the _truth_?”

John gave him an affronted look, “Why would I lie about that?  And was that why you were on the roof?  You were worried about me?”

“Because that’s what we do!” Stiles said, disbelief and panic clawing at his chest again, disregarding John’s second question.  God, was he having a panic attack?  _Another one_?  “We say we’re fine when we’re actually really not!”

“Stiles.”  He looked up at his father, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by _everything_.  “Are _you_ okay?”  Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and a noise of defeat escaped him.  Jesus Christ, he was a mess.

“No,” he said.  “No, Dad, I’m not.”

John got up and came around the table.  Stiles stood to meet him and John pulled him in and held him against his chest as Stiles just cried into his shoulder, let out all of the pain and frustration and confusion he kept buried inside him.

What a great first day back.

“What was that you were about to say,” John said after Stiles finally calmed down.  “About you and Scott?”

Stiles let out a watery laugh.  “We were gonna try and get you guys together,” he mumbled.  “Guess you didn’t need intervention.”

John hummed thoughtfully, rubbing Stiles’ back soothingly.  Stiles sighed and leaned into his father’s touch.  The day so far has been full of epiphanies and Stiles was exhausted.

“You want to talk about it?” his father asked.

“No.”  A pause, then, “I dunno,” he amended.  “Maybe.”

John chuckled pulled away from the hug.  “Well, I’m here if you need me.”

Stiles smiled, “I know.”

They sat back down and steered the conversation to something else while they waited for their food.  Stiles talked about his classes – carefully avoiding mentioning the Hales, because he just couldn’t deal with that can of worms right now – and John talked about work.  When their food arrived, they dug in and silence reigned for at least ten minutes.  Only a few sighs of pleasure and scraping of utensils broke the quiet.

Stiles leaned back in his chair after he finished, his hands folded on his abdomen.  He closed his eyes and started to doze before his father pushed the Styrofoam container to the side and leaned against the table.  Stiles cracked open an eye and peered at his father, who was resting his chin in the palm of his hand, his other arm on the table.  He was looking at Stiles with fondness and a hint of concern. 

“Dad?” he said softly, his stomach fluttering with nerves.

“Yeah, son?” he responded, equally as soft.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and frowned.  _How do you know you’re in love_ , was the first thing that had come to mind, but Stiles knew that that was complicated.  Love was tricky.  Love was unpredictable.  Love was different for everyone.  Stiles doubted anyone really knew what love was.

Instead he said, “I think I’ve found someone.”

John raised a curious eyebrow.  “Who?”

This would be the first time he’s told his father about any of his relationships.  Alex was a friend and Stiles hadn’t deemed it important that sometimes they fucked when they felt like it.  His one-night stands were unimportant.  And he had contemplated telling him about David but that fell through before any plans solidified.  “I’m not really . . . with him?” he said hesitantly.

“But you want to be.”

“I – yeah.”  Stiles sighed, knocking his head against the back of the chair.  “I just don’t know if he wants me, too.” 

“Is this somehow connected to you asking me for the Hale case files?”

Stiles snapped to attention, cracking his back and banging his knee on the underside of the table in the process.  “What?” he asked, grimacing at the pain shooting up his leg.

John gave him an unimpressed look.  “I’m not sheriff for nothing, Stiles.”

“Uh,” he said stupidly, licked his lips.  “Yes?”  John cocked an eyebrow and waited.  Stiles fidgeted, now unsure if he wanted to tell his father anything but it was already too late to back out.  He sighed and slumped onto the table.  “It’s Derek,” he mumbled against the wood.  “Derek Hale.  I’m kind of in love with him.”  The last bit he said quickly in hopes that his father wouldn’t catch his words.

No such luck.

“Only kind of?” he asked, teasing.

Stiles groaned, “Daaaaad.  This is serious.”

John huffed out a laugh.  “All right.  What’s the problem?  As far as I remember, he was a good kid before the fire and before Laura took him to New York.  And if I recall correctly you said that you’re friends with both of them.  You never call someone your friend unless they know you’re trans man and they’re okay with it.”

Stiles sighed, “I know.”  He peeked at his father who was giving him a look that demanded explanation.  “He may be okay with it to be friends, but it doesn’t mean he’s _okay_ with it.”

“Eloquent.”

“You know what I mean,” Stiles scowled.

“I do,” John sighed.  “But you never know – ”

“Until I try,” Stiles interrupted.  “Scott told me the same thing.  You sure you aren’t trading tips with him?”  John shook his head, smiling.  “I just – ”  His father didn’t know about David or what had happened.  How _hurt_ and _betrayed_ he had felt when Stiles had found out he was just the laughing stock for David and his friends.  But . . . being afraid of getting hurt was a legitimate concern, and Stiles was _terrified_. 

“Y’know,” John started, tapping his fingers against the table absently.  “Claudia was completely out of my league, and I knew it.  She was beautiful, smart, and popular.  But after spending only a few hours with her, I knew she was the one.”  John shrugged, smiling.  “My friends thought I was crazy, that I was in over my head.  But after two years of being friends, I finally asked her out and she said yes.”

“You’ve told me this story before,” he said, not unkindly.  He was just confused as to _why_ his father was retelling it.  “Mom, too.”

“Sometimes,” John said, pinning Stiles with a firm look.  “The greatest risk reaps the greatest reward.”

Stiles sighed and buried his face against the table again.  He mulled over John’s words as his father stood and cleaned up, throwing away the take-out containers and plastic utensils.  Basically his father was telling him to just go for it.  But . . . but what?  Relationships were intimidating; _scary_ , even.  Trust was leaving a part of oneself with somebody else.  And he trusted Derek, he did.  But did he trust him with his heart?

 _Ugh_.  Stiles thumped his forehead on the table.  How lame did that sound?

“Stiles, I’ll bring in the Hale files; don’t stay up too late.”

He perked up at that.  Stiles always felt better when he focused his energy and attention into a good mystery.  But he was _tired_.  “Thanks, dad,” he mumbled.  “But I think I’ll leave it for tomorrow.”

John pat him on the head, ruffled his hair.  “Sure, buddy.”

Stiles grunted and slid off his chair, stumbling out of the kitchen and up the stairs.  He opened the door to his room and the scent of _clean_ and _home_ hit him hard.  His room looked as it always did when he came home to visit: tidy.  A small smirk tilted his lips.  Guaranteed by the end of the break his room would be a mess.  He eyed his bed then down to himself.  A shower could wait.  He took a quick one before he and Allison headed out.  Stiles stripped off his layers until he was only in his underwear then he pulled at the comforter and slipped underneath.  He sighed and closed his eyes, snuggling deeper into the sheets and blankets.

His problems could wait. 

^ 

For the days leading up to Christmas, Stiles buried himself in the Hale fire files.  He read about Derek and Laura’s family, their aunts, uncles, cousins, their mother and father.  He learned more about the Hale family in two days than either Laura or Derek had offered in the four months they’ve known each other.  Stiles didn’t blame them for not wanting to bring them up, though; he hadn’t mentioned his mother to them, either.  He also felt a bit guilty for learning this stuff from case files instead of Laura or Derek telling him in confidence.  It almost felt like he was betraying their trust.  Well, _Derek’s_ trust, since Laura knew full well what he was going to get up to over break.

But even with his guilt simmering in the pit of his stomach, he also couldn’t help but feel a deep empathy for the Hales; they were good people.  They didn’t deserve what had happened to them.  Derek and Laura didn’t deserve being orphaned.  To have such a large family and have it destroyed in one fell swoop . . . Stiles couldn’t imagine the devastation Laura and Derek felt in the aftermath.

He could understand why Laura hadn’t wanted to stay in Beacon Hills.  According to the files, they hadn’t even stayed for the trial of Kate and Gerard Argent or for their insurance money to come in.  They just up and left after giving their statements to his father.

Stiles was so engrossed with the Hales that Scott had to drag him out after the second day of locking himself away in his room and ignoring all of Scott’s texts and calls.  He felt marginally ashamed for neglecting his friends but the Hales were an enigma, and when Stiles was intrigued he became _obsessed_.  Why did Kate and Gerard kill the entire Hale family?  He hadn’t even gotten to their statements when Scott forced him outdoors.  

But he could allow himself one day of distraction, he supposed; it wasn’t like the files were going to disappear on him.  So he managed to push the Hale family out of his mind for the time being to enjoy the day with Scott and Allison.  They wandered around downtown, Scott bemoaning his yet-to-be-done Christmas shopping.  Allison rolled her eyes, a fond smile on her lips, and tugged Scott towards the mall.

“Then let’s just do it now.  Stiles and I will help you.”

“I will?” Stiles said incredulously and Scott snorted.

“Dude, Stiles is just as bad getting his Christmas presents,” Scott said.

“Excuse you,” Stiles said, affronted.  “I’ll have you know I did all my shopping in Berkley.  I’m completely done.”

. . . Which was only partially true.  He got Scott, Melissa, and his father something from Berkley, but he still needed to get Allison something.  Stiles had vacillated over what to get Derek and Laura but had ultimately decided to get something special from Beacon Hills.  Even if they haven’t been back since the fire, and even if they left with bad memories of the town, Stiles believed that there were still _good_ memories here and that something small could help remind them of that.  He reminded himself that every day.  Because despite losing his mother at a young age and the bullying for being different, Beacon Hills was still home, where he and Scott formed an inseparable bond and where his father lived.  Stiles just didn’t know what to get them.  He knew them well enough but he didn’t know what they would miss from Beacon Hills.

Then Stiles got an idea and whipped out his phone.  He tapped the screen contemplatively, wondering if he should ask directly or be sneaky about it.

“What’re you doing?” Scott asked. 

He glanced between Scott and Allison.  Allison still didn’t know about his friendship with the Hales and he had no intention of telling her yet.  He wanted to finish reading the Hale files first before deciding anything.  And Scott, bless him, understood and would keep the secret. 

“Texting a friend back in Berkley,” he said, pinning Scott a significant look, hoping he’d catch on.  “He might want something from here ‘cause it’s not so mainstream and it’s a small town.”  It wasn’t a complete lie.

He eyed Scott again and Scott gave him a small, understanding smile.  “Split up?” he offered.

Stiles beamed.  He should get something extra for Scott for being awesome.  “Yeah, okay.  I’ll call you when I’m done since I’m assuming you’ll probably take longer ‘cause you have more people to shop for.”

Scott rolled his eyes, “Yeah, whatever dude.”

Allison looked between them, amused, her cheeks dimpling.  “Keep him in check, yeah?” Stiles told her.

She laughed, “I always do.”

Scott opened his mouth to argue, but Stiles slapped him on the back and trotted away, waving a goodbye over his shoulder.  He headed towards the smaller, locally owned stores before stopping and looking down at his phone again.  Straight-forward or sneaky?  If he asked something like that outright, Derek might get suspicious.  Sneaky, then.

Stiles tapped out a text and sent it before he could change his mind.

_Scott and I used to dick around in the woods when we were younger._

He pocketed his phone and wandered into an antique store.  The heady scent of musk, wood, and metal hit him when he walked in and a smile tugged at his lips.  He’d find something for Derek here.  Regardless of what his answer was, Stiles knew that Derek’d appreciate an antique.  He was poking around the front of the store for only a moment when his phone buzzed.  Stiles dug it out of his pocket.

_Are you telling me this for a reason?_

Stiles grinned; he could practically feel the incredulity through the text, see Derek’s eyebrow rise.

_No, not particularly.  Just, y’know, memories._

“Well, if it isn’t Stiles Stilinski.”

Stiles jerked his head up, startled, and his jaw dropped.  “Ms. Morrell!  I didn’t know this was your shop,” he said lamely.

She smiled.  “Please, call me Marin.  And my brother and I have quite a collection of antiques, you’d be surprised.”

“Er, I’m surprised now?”  Morrell used to be the guidance counselor at the high school; he was required to check in with her ever few weeks during his senior year after he started taking hormones.  Stiles wasn’t particularly close to her and their acquaintance was more out of forced necessity than friendship.

“So what brings you into an antique store, Stiles?”

“Oh, uh,” he started, but got distracted when his phone buzzed again.  He glanced down at the lit up screen then back up at Morrell who raised an amused eyebrow.  “A gift for a friend.  ‘Scuse me.”  He opened and read the text, giving himself a moment of reprieve from Morrell’s knowing gaze.

_You were a reckless troublemaker, weren’t you?_

Stiles scoffed and punched out a reply.  _Like you weren’t?_   And that was it; hopefully Derek would give him something to work off of with his next message.

“Tell me about your friend, maybe I can help you find something,” she said, running her fingers along the counter.

“Um, he’s a bit of a nerd though he tries to pretend he’s not.  But he loves books and history – he works in a library.  And uh,” he hesitated, wondering if he should give away the fact that Derek used to live here or that he lost his family.  It didn’t feel right revealing something that personal.  “He has a sister,” he said instead.  “Older, and they’re really close.”

Morrell hummed softly and she turned away from the counter to rummage in a drawer behind her.  While she searched for . . . whatever it was, Derek texted him back.

_‘Course I was.  All kids are._

_You gotta tell me one of your stories, dude, you just can’t leave me hanging._

_Yes I can._  

_Aww man, c’mon!  I’ve told you so many stupid things that Scott and I’ve done!  And I only know like two embarrassing stories about your childhood and that’s ‘cause Laura told me._

_Laura told you?  What exactly did she tell you?_

_Don’t change the subject!_ Stiles scowled.  _I’ll ask Laura instead._

There was a brief pause, then, _Sometimes Laura and I used to sneak out of the house at night to skinny dip in the lake just outside our property._

Stiles laughed, and texted back giddily.  _OMG, TELL ME YOU’RE JOKING.  That’s hilarious!_

_I am not joking, Laura can confirm it._

Morrell cleared her throat and Stiles jumped.  She gave him a small smile and he shrugged, putting his phone down on the counter.  “Here,” she said, handing him a small object.

He automatically accepted the item and it fell heavy in his hand.  It was a sort of pendant about the size of a half-dollar and was shaped like three spirals emanating from a single point.  “It’s a triskelion,” he said, surprised.

Morrell’s smile widened.  “Good job.  It’s a Neolithic symbol, though it’s usually considered Celtic.  The three branches can mean anything of importance and it also represents stability.”

“It only takes three points to define a plane.”

“That’s right,” she said.  “This triskelion belonged to the Hale family.”  Stiles startled, but Morrell continued, seemingly ignorant.  “After the fire, looters plundered the house and stripped it of its remaining valuables.  Fortunately, your father caught most of thieves.”  Morrell gave him a look, “And this triskelion was one of the items recovered.  You should give it back to its rightful owners.”

Stiles opened his mouth, closed it, frowned.  “How did you know I was looking for something for a Hale?” he asked, suspicious.

Morrell glanced down at Stiles’ phone that was lying innocently on the countertop.  “I noticed,” she said cryptically.

Stiles turned the triskelion over in his palm, fascinated.  Would Laura and Derek appreciate something like this, though?  Sure, it belonged to their family . . . but did they _want_ it?  Stiles licked his lips, “Okay.  How much – ?”

“Take it,” Morrell interrupted him.  “It belongs to them.”

“Yeah, but – ”

Morrell shook her head.  “Anything else I would charge you, but not for that.”

“Uh,” Stiles stuttered, unsure.  “Okay?”

Morrell smiled.  “Was there anything else you wanted to see?” 

Stiles shrugged, closing his fingers around the token.  “I can take a look,” he said, picking up his phone and shoving it back in his pocket.  He spent at least another fifteen minutes poking around the store, fascinated by the random trinkets and books he found.  His phone buzzed several times in the interim, all from Derek, and he kept up their conversation about their adventures as kids.  The latest text was from Scott, who said that he was over shopping and the mall and Christmas music and the people and _can we please go home_.  Stiles shook his head, smiling fondly; it hadn’t even been an hour.  Serves him right for waiting ‘til the last minute.  Christmas was in a few days.

Before he left, Stiles purchased a book, _Elementary History of the United States_ that dated back to the mid-1800s.  Derek would get a kick out of it, he was sure.  For Laura, he found a women’s suffrage poster from England.  He also decided to get a neat looking fob compass for himself from the early 1910s that was a little dinged up, but still looked really cool.  There was no particular reason for why he wanted it, and he’d probably never use it, but he was going to indulge himself just this once.  Morrell gave him an amused look when he handed over his debit card but Stiles shrugged it off easily.

He left the store a few minutes later and shot a text to Scott, telling him to meet where they split up.  Then he sent another message to Derek, telling him that he got him something for ‘his inner nerd’.  He didn’t respond and Stiles didn’t think anything of it.  Derek was probably busy with Laura and doing their own thing for Christmas.

When Scott and Allison finally met up with him, Stiles was surprised to see Scott laden with several bags.  “You did well in a short amount of time,” he remarked.

Allison rolled her eyes, “Only because he got the first thing he thought each person would like.”

Stiles snorted and shrugged.  “Well, at least it’s something.”

“Oh, shut up, Stiles,” Scott huffed, hoisting the bags up.  “At least I did it this year.”

“That you did,” Stiles said drily, smirking.  They continued to bicker good-naturedly as they made their way to the parking lot.  As Scott shoved his bags into the backseat of Allison’s car, they agreed to meet at the café by the park for some lunch and coffee, and Stiles wandered over to his Jeep.  Despite everything, it felt nice to be home.

Stiles spent the rest of the day hanging out with Allison and Scott, finally retreating to the solitude of his room when the sun started to set.  He eyed the stack of papers on his desk before gathering them up and crawling awkwardly onto his bed.  He spread the folders around him in a circle and piled the ones he already read next to him.  Pulling the closest folder towards him, Stiles opened it and started to read.  It didn’t take long for him to become immersed in the Hale files again.  When he finally found something, Stiles’ heart stopped, his breath catching in his throat.

Oh.  _Oh_.

So that was why –

Stiles let out a shaky breath and closed the folder with false calm and placed the files on his bedside table.  He stared unseeingly at the folders for long minutes, his chest heavy, his stomach like lead.

He almost regretted digging into Derek and Laura’s past.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is why I am not allowed to post WIPs: I take forever to update and/or I forget about the story I'm writing. I'M SO SORRY.
> 
> Anyway, here is the last chapter! Un-beta'd, as usual.
> 
> Also, I have decided to make this 'verse a series, yay! I already have some ideas for timestamps/one-shots (and possibly even a full blown sequel, le gasp!), so hopefully those'll be up in due time. :)
> 
> Thank you all SO MUCH for the kudos and comments and waiting for me to write this last part. I hope you enjoy!

It was Stiles’ last night in Beacon Hills before heading back to Berkeley for his last semester, and he was sitting on the hood of his Jeep, parked in front of the burnt out shell of the Hale house. He had spent much of his time trying to not think about Derek, which led to thinking about Derek, which then led to him telling himself all the reasons why he should _stop_ thinking about Derek, but then he’d think why the hell _should_ he stop thinking about Derek, and he’d work himself up into a tizzy and would have to go for a run in the preserve to get rid of some of his pent up energy. Stiles didn’t even _like_ running.

Then it’d start all over again. It was a vicious cycle and it was exhausting. 

During the times he calmed himself down enough to function as a normal human being, he helped John at the sheriff office or hung out with Scott and Allison.  Focusing on something else always helped when he got . . . overzealous. 

After the new year dawned, Stiles realized that he was doing something that he had promised Laura (and himself) that he wouldn’t do when he discovered Derek’s history with the Argents: change his opinion of him.  It wasn’t that Stiles thought any less of Derek or judged him for his mistakes, but all the worrying Stiles had been doing had certainly altered his perception a bit.

The thing was, Derek was still Derek regardless of what had happened.  His past _made_ him into the person he was today, just like Stiles’ own experiences molded him. Essentially, Stiles was freaking out over nothing.

Well, not exactly _nothing._  The whole case stank of lies and deceit, and Stiles was suspicious. There was something missing. John’s reports stated Kate and Gerard’s psychosis as their reasoning with no further claim whatsoever on _why_.  It bothered him.  Sure, the general public could believe an act of insanity caused them to lose touch with humanity and reality, leading them to commit arson, but _Stiles didn’t believe it_.  There had to be more.  Especially because Kate and Derek’s relationship seemed contrived.

And though Kate and Gerard Argent were now behind bars, hatred simmered within him when he thought about how _cruel_ Kate was, how much pain and suffering she had caused.  On top of that, according to the files, she hadn’t seemed to show a shred of remorse.  Maybe a little for getting _caught_ , but none for manipulating a teenager and killing Derek and Laura’s family in cold blood.

But _was_ it in cold blood?  Stiles winced at the thought, immediately feeling guilty for assuming that there had to be a _reason_ for Kate and Gerard to kill the Hales.  But Stiles vaguely remembered the Hales as upstanding citizens of the town, if a bit secretive in their secluded house in the woods.  They were good people; his father had said as much.  So what could have possessed someone – _two_ people from the same family, no less – to burn another family alive?

Stiles sighed, the air just cold enough for Stiles to see his breath for a second.  The only light was the stars and the moon, making the trees cast eerie shadows on the forest floor.  The woods should unnerve him, the house was decrepit and falling apart, but it had been a _home_.  It had been Derek and Laura’s.  Before a crazy human decided to destroy it.

He sighed again and kicked his legs idly, his heels knocking against the bumper of his Jeep as he stared at the remains of the Hale house, a deep empathy for Laura and Derek settling in his chest.  Stiles may not know what it’s like to lose his entire family, but losing his mother had felt like the end of the world.  For Laura and Derek, the feeling must have been tenfold.

And after Stiles’ initial freak out, Laura’s fear of Stiles pushing Derek away was unfounded. After all, who was he to judge someone on their past mistakes?  Certainly not him, not when he had made some questionable decisions himself. His uncertainty mainly stemmed from fear.  Fear that humans could be so monstrous.  Disbelief that humans could lack remorse and sympathy.

What also worried him was that Stiles hadn’t heard from Derek since their text conversation in the antique store. That was well over a week and a half ago, and Derek’s silence was a bit disheartening. 

Regardless, Derek was Derek. Derek, who Stiles would’ve never guessed had a guilt and pain deeper than just losing his family. Derek, who Stiles has seen smile and laugh with only mere traces of a hidden secret and a deep-seated grief. Derek, who managed to rise and overcome his past hurts.  Derek, who Stiles was in love with.  He shuddered, his heart fluttering in his chest.

 _Love_.

Stiles loved Derek.

He _loves_ Derek.

Stiles stared at his hands as he clenched and unclenched them. 

Derek, who suddenly decided to give Stiles the cold shoulder for whatever reason. He thought back on their texts and couldn’t think of a single thing that could have caused it. But whatever had caused Derek’s silence, he hoped it wasn’t too late to fix whatever it was he did wrong. Because even if they were just friends, he’d rather have that than nothing at all.  And as much as Stiles wanted Derek to want him back, he could settle for less.

^

One of the first things that Stiles did when he was back in Berkeley was visit Laura. She didn’t seem surprised in the least to see Stiles barging in first thing on a Monday morning. Come to think of it, Stiles should have texted Laura over the break; she could’ve told him what was up with Derek when he dropped off the radar.

“Happy new year, Stiles.”

“Huh, what?” Stiles startled, not realizing he’d been standing stupidly in the middle of Laura’s office for several moments. “Oh.  Yeah, you too.”

Laura raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on Stiles’ distraction. He didn’t even notice that she had come to stand in front of him, her arms crossed against her chest.

“Where’s Derek?” he asked.  “Is he okay? He stopped texting me.”

Laura sighed, “There was a . . . situation over winter break – ”

“What?” Stiles interrupted, his heart skipping beats.  “Are you guys all right?  What happened?” 

Laura waved off his queries with an appreciative smile.  “It’s been dealt with.  We’re fine, Stiles, calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Stiles lied, willing his pulse to slow.  “I’m totally calm.”

Laura raised an eyebrow, her look of incredulity uncannily similar to Derek’s. “Other than that,” she said, “Derek is sulking.”

Stiles blinked, thrown by the change of subject.  “Why?” What?  _Why?_  

“I told him that you were going to go digging around in your father’s files and he didn’t like the idea of you finding out about his past.”  Laura gave him a soft yet critical look.  It was a look that asked ‘are _you_ okay?’ and Stiles felt a flutter in his chest.  He was okay with it, he really was.  Now he was just worried if _Derek_ was okay with Stiles knowing everything.  Something must have shown on his face, because Laura’s gaze turned understanding and relieved.

“He’ll come around, Stiles,” Laura assured, giving him a small smile. “Just give him some time.”

“Two weeks wasn’t enough time?” he asked, his voice droll to hide the hurt he felt. “And why’d you tell him in the first place?”

Laura chuckled, “There are no secrets between us.”

“Really,” he deadpanned.

Laura’s smile widened, “Really.”

“What are you guys, like a walking lie detector?” 

Laura laughed, “You’re not too far off the mark.”

“What?” he asked, baffled.

“Stiles,” Laura said, her expression turning serious.  “There’s something else that Derek’s upset about, something he doesn’t want me to tell you.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t tell me,” he said. 

“This is my choice to make, not his.”

Stiles frowned, “What do you mean?  If it affects Derek – ”

“It affects both of us,” Laura interrupted.  She sighed and uncrossed her arms, walked around him and closed her office door.

“That’s not creepy at all,” Stiles said as she turned the deadbolt before facing him again.

“Simply for precaution.”

“Right,” Stiles said, wary.  She looked calm, but also a bit . . . cautious.  “Laura – ” 

“Our files,” she cut him off again.  “I know you enough that you probably thought something was missing.”

Stiles licked his lips.  “Uh.” He wasn’t sure where this was going, what Laura was about to tell him.  Stiles wasn’t even sure he _wanted_ to know.  He’s already broached both Laura and Derek’s confidentiality by digging up their files; he didn’t want Laura to feel like she needed to clarify anything.  “I don’t – ”

“Lie,” Laura said.

Stiles snapped his mouth shut and made a disgruntled noise.

“Your comment about lie detectors,” she said.  “We really can tell, you know.  When you’re lying.” 

Stiles stared at her uncomprehending, his mind racing in an attempt to _understand_.  “I don’t get it,” he finally said after a few moments.

Laura gave him a small smile.  “What do you know about werewolves, Stiles?” 

^

Needless to say, Stiles freaked out a little.  Okay, maybe a lot.  Now he understood why Laura had dead bolted the door.  It was more for Stiles’ sake than Laura’s, and it wasn’t because Laura was going to hurt him; it was because Stiles needed to _not_ be able to run away before she could explain.  After Stiles had calmed down enough, Laura elucidated.

She told him how most of the Hales were werewolves and their mother Talia was the Alpha. How they learned to control the shift and their wolf from at a young age and the difference between born wolves and bitten wolves.  She explained that the Argents were hunters and though they had a Code, Kate and Gerard ignored it and slaughtered the Hale pack in cold blood.  How the spark of the Alpha passed to her after her mother died. How Derek’s eyes turned blue because of the guilt he felt.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Stiles asked.

She sighed, “Derek didn’t want to tell you because he was afraid of making the same mistake twice. and he didn’t want _me_ to tell you because he didn’t want you to see him differently on top of what you’d find out in the Hale case files.  And to put it simply,” she reached out and ruffled his hair, “I trust you.”

Stiles let the magnitude of her words sink in before croaking out, “I’d never betray that trust.”

Laura smiled, “I know.”

“Derek?” 

“Take some time before talking to him,” she said.  “I think you’ll both need it; it’s a lot to take in.”

Stiles nodded absently and with another fond ruffle of his hair, Laura sent him on his way.  He went through the next few days in a bit of a daze, going through the movements of attending class, pretending to pay attention and take notes, and trying to absorb the huge dump of information Laura had told him the day he visited her. He almost didn’t want to believe her – how could he?  Frickin’ _werewolves_ , man – but she had flashed her eyes red, even elongated her teeth and nails.  Stiles learned at least this much from his father’s line of work: there’s only so much you could neglect to believe when presented with concrete evidence. 

And the evidence was pretty concrete.

When she asked him what he thought about wolves and hunters, he didn’t know what to say. It hadn’t been fair of her to ask him such a question, but he answered as best he could.  Answered what he believed to be the truth and, apparently, he had passed the test because Laura had beamed and the red of her eyes faded back to hazel.

Stiles had taken her advice, too, and kept to himself for a while because he knew himself well enough that if he had tracked down Derek right after, his and Derek’s conversation wouldn’t have ended well.  Mainly because Stiles would’ve run his mouth and said something he’d regret, and he wanted Derek to forgive him not push him away.

One thing he didn’t quite understand, though, was why she had decided to tell him their secret in the first place.  He would’ve assumed that after Kate both Hales would be wary of who they’d tell their secret to.  And as flattered as he was that Laura trusted him this much, with something that was essentially their _life_ , it still begged the question _why_.

It was one of the questions he’d managed to ask, but all Laura said was that that was Derek’s responsibility to tell him and, if Derek continued to be a “stubborn asshole” – Laura’s words, not his – then she’d tell Stiles the reasons herself. It was implied that Derek wanted this particular piece of information to come from him, not from his sister. Stiles supposed he could wait, but he didn’t really know what he was waiting _for_.

And he understood if Derek wasn’t ready to reveal . . . whatever it was, he did, but it seemed to be the last piece of the puzzle.  By the end of the week, he was itching to see Derek.  Not only had they not spoken for nearly a month, but he _missed_ him. He’s had time to process the information from both the Hale files and Laura’s revelation, and Stiles still wanted to see Derek. It was funny that Stiles felt like all this new knowledge both changed everything yet changed nothing. 

The Hales were werewolves.

Derek put his trust in the wrong person and was afraid of making the same mistake.

Kate and Gerard Argent were hunters who ignored their Code and slaughtered the Hales despite them living peacefully side-by-side with humans. 

Stiles was in love with Derek.

In spite of everything, Stiles was still in love.  And that had to mean something, right?

He’d also spent much of the week looking up werewolf myth and lore. Some of the stuff he found were _nuts_ , but even myths and legends had to come from somewhere, right?  All stories stem from some sort of truth.  And he wanted to hear Derek’s story from Derek.  He only hoped that Derek would be willing to tell it.

Exactly a week – which felt like the longest week of his life – after his and Laura’s conversation, Stiles went to the library to track down Derek. Armed with new knowledge of the Hales, he tried to think of what to say to him when they were finally face to face. Funnily enough, Stiles couldn't think of anything.  What was he supposed to say?  Bringing up Derek’s wolf felt wrong as well as the fire and the Argents; he wouldn’t mention them, not at least until Stiles was sure Derek was okay with talking about it. That left little to open with after a month of silence between them except, perhaps, an apology.

The thing was, apologizing felt wrong, too, because he wasn’t exactly _sorry._   But that was just it, though, wasn’t it?  A play on words. He _could_ apologize because saying ‘I apologize’ didn’t really mean the same as ‘I’m sorry’.  But Stiles also didn’t want to use his words against Derek, not when Derek had already been manipulated with words and it had resulted in fire and ash.  He couldn’t – he _wouldn’t_ – do that to Derek.

Stiles stopped in front of the library doors and took a deep breath before striding in. His heartbeat was erratic when he glanced at the front desk, and Derek was there behind the counter, his gaze immediately locking with Stiles’.

Well, that was a good sign at least.  Derek wasn’t avoiding him, wasn’t running away when he could. Now that Stiles knew that Derek could smell and hear him from a distance, it put a whole new perspective on their relationship.  What exactly did Derek know about him that he _didn’t_ want him to know?  Now that he thought about it, Derek probably knew he was transgender the moment they met. Moreover, Derek might even know about his feelings for him, and as much as Stiles would love to keep that a secret for the rest of his life, it seemed impossible when Derek could sniff out his emotions without even trying.

But there wasn’t much Stiles could do to prevent a slip-up.  He couldn’t _stop_ loving Derek and he couldn’t exactly turn off his emotions.  All he could hope for was that Derek would ignore it and not let it compromise their friendship.

Stiles took another deep breath and refocused his attention on Derek. He didn’t look mad, not even a little irritated.  He looked calm, and the coolness of his eyes sent shivers up and down Stiles’ spine. Stiles hated composure. In his experience, it’s never meant anything good.

The doctor’s were composed when they told him and his father that his mother was dying. They were composed when Claudia finally passed away.  Claudia’s funeral was full of composure; only he and John were emotional wrecks. The doctor who prescribed him his hormones was eerily composed, and only Melissa and John’s presence kept him from doing something stupid.  Morell was always composed when he visited her in her office for his required consultations.

Stiles hated composure.  He hated it so much that it became an integral part of himself, pretended he never _could_ compose himself.

It was a weird, stupid, and contradictory defense mechanism, but it worked.

Stiles averted his eyes and let his gaze skitter around the atrium, looking anywhere _but_ at Derek. He closed his eyes and steeled himself before opening them again and striding up to the counter with false bravado. As he got closer, he scrutinized Derek’s reaction.  He didn’t know what to look for, but he felt an odd sort of relief when he saw Derek’s eyes had a soft edge to them he hadn’t seen from afar.

Stiles reached the counter and neither of their gazes wavered. 

“My mom died when I was nine,” he blurted, and he watched Derek’s brows furrow in confusion. They weren’t exactly alone, and the front desk of Berkley’s library wasn’t the ideal place for this particular conversation, but . . . but Stiles needed to say something. Anything.  “Frontotemporal dementia,” he continued.  Stiles finally broke eye contact and looked at the ground, feeling exposed.  He’s never told anyone about his mother’s disease; the only ones who knew were John, Melissa, and Scott.  But, he figured if he invaded Derek’s privacy, then he might as well give up some of his own.

“Stiles – ”

“It’s the shrinkage of the frontal lobe of the brain,” he continued. “Everyone has different symptoms, but my mom couldn’t tell the difference between reality and fantasy.” He bit his lip and fidgeted with the sleeves of his hoodie.  “She’d lash out sometimes.  Have hallucinations. It’s incurable, and my mom progressed incredibly fast and she died two years after she was diagnosed.”

He could feel himself trembling, and Stiles hasn’t felt this vulnerable in years. Because, he supposed, physical hurt was one thing but emotional hurt was something else altogether. Sometimes it was easier to break through emotional defenses than it was physical, especially if you knew where to hit.

“I watched her die, slowly, and I know it isn’t the same, and this kind of stuff can never be _compared,_ but – ”

“Stiles.” He felt a hand land on his shoulder, steady and firm.  “ _Breathe_.”

He managed several quick gasps of air, not even realizing when he had started to panic, nor when Derek had come around to his side of the counter. He ducked his head and wiped angrily at an errant tear, sniffling.  “Sorry,” he muttered. 

“It’s – I'm sorry, too.”

Stiles risked a glance, and Derek looked . . . guilty.  He punched Derek lightly on the arm.  Was it pathetic of him to relish in the warmth he felt against his knuckles where he touched Derek?  Yeah, probably.  He couldn’t bring himself to care, though.  “You better be, you jerk.  I was _worried_ about you.” 

“I didn’t think – not after what you found out.  And now that Laura’s told you – ”

“Derek,” he said, putting a tentative hand on the same arm he just half-heartedly assaulted. “It’s okay.”

Derek huffed, but not angry or annoyed.  Just a bit amused, but mostly worried and disbelieving.  “Okay?  Not going to make it difficult for me?” he joked lightly.  “Especially when I’m – ”

“Please don’t say monster,” Stiles said, and Derek looked taken aback by his outburst. “I mean, I don’t have much experience with the supernatural or frickin’ _werewolves_ , but I know you Derek and you’re not a monster.”  He licked his lips, “I’ve seen what humans can do, too, y’know. And sometimes I feel like we’re the most monstrous animals on the planet.”

Derek was silent as he stared hard at Stiles, searched his eyes, and Stiles let him. His heartbeat was steady and he knew Derek was going to know that he was telling the truth. It was almost the same answer he gave Laura when she asked him that loaded question a week ago, and if Laura accepted his answer he was sure Derek would, too.  “You really believe that,” he said.  It wasn’t a question, but more like a statement.

Stiles nodded. “Besides,” he said. “What’s the point of staying angry? Not when – ”  He cut himself off and swallowed thickly, his gaze still locked with Derek’s.  “My mom told me this when my grandmother died.  Did you know that they survived the Holocaust?  I guess you can kind of relate to it, as an extended metaphor or whatever, but,” Stiles took a fortifying breath before barreling on.  “‘You never know what your last words to someone will be,’” he quoted, ‘“Don’t let it be a negative one.’”

Derek looked surprised for a moment before a soft, understanding smile pulled at his lips, hope and sadness warring in his eyes.  “Yeah.  I get it.” 

“So we’re good?” Stiles asked, leaning forward a little, craving the heat he could feel radiate off Derek’s body.  “Still friends?”

 _Friends_. Stiles had to remind himself that friendship with Derek was better than nothing.  And, well, from now on he had to try and control his body impulses now that he knew that Derek could smell his emotions and hear his heartbeat. This sounded more and more like a terrible idea; Stiles was horrible at masking his emotions. But . . .

Derek nodded, his smile widening.  “We’re good.”

Stiles smiled back.  “Okay.” He let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Good.”

^

Things between him and Derek went back to relative normality.  Well, as normal as it could be now that he knew that Derek turned into a wolf on the nights of the full moon.  He asked Derek once if he could see his wolf, and Derek was unable to hide the shock on his face, neither could he hide the pleased smile afterwards when Stiles gushed over how _awesome_ his wolf was.  Stiles wasn’t lying, and he could tell that Derek was _preening_ from the praise.  (He really was a beautiful wolf.  Dark grey with a white undercoat with some sprinkling of black down his back.)

Stiles empathized with Derek, with the Hales, even more now.  He knew what it’s like to be different, to be ostracized, to be misunderstood.  It wasn’t quite the same, but it was similar enough that Stiles could somewhat relate to the Hales. They both had their past demons that they still struggled with in the present.  They had something that they couldn’t change about themselves that set them apart from the norm, something that made them _different_.

He loved Derek even more for it.

One of the things he loved about the slight change in their relationship was that despite the fact that Derek’s secret was out in the open they didn’t treat each other any differently.  Yes, Derek had a more animalistic side but Stiles still poked and prodded him to irritation. Derek could now flash his eyes in retaliation and bare his canines, sometimes he used his superior strength to pin Stiles to whatever was closest to prove a point.  And his needling really had nothing to do with Stiles’ desire to feel Derek against him even if it was in annoyance.  It really didn’t.  (It did.)

He’d be lying if he denied that he liked Derek’s more wolfish tendencies. Stiles liked it, _loved_ it when Derek let his wolf seep through. To him, it meant that Derek felt safe and secure, that he trusted Stiles with this.  And Stiles treasured that trust.

As the semester wore on, Stiles started to spend more time at Derek and Laura’s apartment and they’d watch random movies and TV shows.  Once, when it was just he and Derek, Stiles reached out on impulse to run his fingers through Derek’s hair.  Derek had jerked away in surprise, and likewise Stiles snatched his hand back with an apology already on the tip of his tongue, but Derek shook his head and leaned back into him.  After that first time, it was a thing they did, sometimes Derek in his wolf form splayed over Stiles’ lap.  It was comforting to have Derek sprawled on top of him, the heat of his body and fur warming him from the inside out, the low growl of contentment rumbling through his bones as he pet Derek in languid motions.  Some nights Laura would come home to them sprawled on the couch together and she’d have a look of both fondness and exasperation. 

And Stiles was pleasantly surprised to discover that Derek was very affectionate as a wolf. He’d nuzzle him for pets, cuddle into him for body contact, and lick his fingers for attention. It was charming and amusing, but it also made Stiles wonder if Derek knew how intimate he was being with his affections and why Derek was doing it.  Stiles’ knowledge of wolves came from the Internet and what he knew of _werewolves_ was only what Laura had told him.  He knew at the very least that wolves were social and pack oriented and that Laura was Derek’s Alpha. He knew that werewolf packs could also contain humans.  And that made him wonder – did Derek and Laura consider him pack now?

Though Derek never shifted in front of him – and he had yet to see Laura’s wolf form – just the fact that they felt comfortable with Stiles _knowing_ made him think that maybe he’s been accepted by their wolves as pack, as family.  When he asked Laura about pack dynamics, she laughed and told him that the cuddle sessions with Derek that had become routine was definitely something wolves did to strengthen the bonds between pack members, but she hinted that there was also something else to it.  She also promised that if Derek didn’t talk to him within the next month about _that_ (whatever _that_ was), she’d tell him herself.

Stiles considered multiple times just asking Derek outright when they curled up on the couch together watching mindless television, but he couldn’t quite garner up the courage.  Because as much as the evidence pointed otherwise, Stiles was worried that Derek’s reasons would contradict his actions.  On top of not really wanting to know the truth, Stiles was comfortable – perhaps more comfortable than he ought to be – with their relationship as it was.  It almost _felt_ like they were dating, and he and Derek were closer than ever.  There wasn’t much more that he could ask for.

The days bled into weeks and Stiles juggled his time between Derek, school, and Allison and Scott.  In all honesty, he’d almost forgotten about Scott and Allison with all the time he spent with Derek, but Allison had caught him after class on a Friday afternoon and kidnapped him for the rest of the weekend to hang out with her, Danny, and Danny’s new boyfriend Isaac.  On that Sunday, Allison announced that they were spending the day on Skype with Scott since Scott had mentioned he hadn’t heard from Stiles in a while.  That made him feel guilty for his tunnel vision, but Scott waved it away.  It was a good weekend, and Stiles hadn’t realized how much he’d neglected his friends.

Allison had updated him with news about Lydia and Jackson, and Stiles knew she was suspicious when he didn’t wax poetic when she mentioned Lydia. Stiles didn’t elaborate and Allison didn’t pry, and Stiles was grateful for it.  He didn’t want to talk to Allison about the Hales until he knew Laura and Derek were okay with it, if they ever would be okay with it.

Stiles called Alex that weekend too, and unburdened himself of all his doubts and fears about Derek.  Alex was supportive and encouraging, as he always was, and he always managed to make Stiles feel lighter somehow.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Stiles,” he’d said before they hung up, and as much as he valued Alex’s opinions, Stiles couldn’t take his words to heart. 

When spring break rolled around, Stiles decided to stay in Berkley. The first weekend, Laura had a conference in San Diego so Derek and Stiles had the apartment to themselves. They spent most of Saturday lounging around and stuffing themselves with takeout, and Stiles didn’t have to scramble for food like he usually did when he ate with the Hales. (The siblings ate _so much_ it was ridiculous.  And they still managed to stay slim and beautiful, and Derek said that their wolf had a high metabolism so they just naturally remained thin. Stiles kind of hated them for it.)

Sunday night had them both curled up in Derek’s bed watching When Harry Met Sally and Stiles was unashamed to bawl his eyes out at the end.  He could’ve sworn he saw a tear in Derek’s eye, too, though the werewolf would deny it.  When the credits started to roll, Stiles slumped against the pillows and didn’t bother getting out of bed.  He’s slept over with the Hales before, but he crashed on the couch and only a handful of times Derek slept next to him as a wolf.  But if Stiles didn’t move, he’d be in Derek’s bed with him as a human. And despite knowing it was a very bad idea to sleep with Derek in such close proximity, a part of him wanted to remain in the illusion that there was more to their relationship than just camaraderie. Besides, Derek wasn’t kicking him out so it was okay.  Right? He and Scott shared a bed all the time when they slept over at each other’s houses.  It wasn’t a weird thing to do between friends. At least, he didn’t think so.

Regardless, Stiles settled in for the night, and Derek didn’t protest. Stiles wriggled out of his chest binder and claimed the fluffier pillow, which earned him a half-hearted glare and Stiles responded with a cheeky smirk.  Derek rolled his eyes and threw the blankets over him.  Stiles let out an indignant squawk and scrambled out of the covers. He scowled at Derek, who gave him a shit-eating grin before climbing in next to Stiles. Derek nudged him when Stiles didn’t move for several moments, the reality of _sharing a bed with Derek_ finally sinking in.  Or rather, making him freak out just a little. He shook himself out of his daze and scooted over, giving Derek more room.  Stiles turned away from Derek and curled into a fetal position. This was probably the best and worst decision of his life. 

Stiles took a calming breath and closed his eyes.  He imagined what it would be like to actually have this, to go to bed and wake up with Derek.  If it ever happened (it probably wouldn’t), it’d be like something out of a movie. Like Harry and Sally: friends to the love of each other’s life.  Stiles sighed and cuddled into the blankets, lulled to sleep by the Derek’s heat and scent and steady breaths.  If only. 

^

Stiles eased awake the next morning feeling warm and pliant and completely rested. He hummed happily and burrowed his nose deeper into the pillow.  Not his pillow, though.  Stiles breathed in and let Derek’s scent wash over him, warm him from the inside out. He shifted and realized that there was an arm curled around his waist and he snapped to full wakefulness. _Shit_.

He tried to inch away, but Derek was either already awake or a very light sleeper. Or both.  Probably both.

“Where’re you going?” Derek’s voice a low rumble, and Stiles suppressed a shiver. 

“Uh.” Stiles swallowed, his mouth dry. “The bathroom?” he tried.

Derek huffed and even though he couldn’t see it, Stiles knew Derek was rolling his eyes at him. “Liar.”

Stiles made an unhappy noise at the back of his throat.  “That’s really not fair, y’know.  How you can tell when I’m lying but _I_ can’t tell when _you’re_ lying.  It’s like – ” he paused, scrambling for a proper metaphor.  “Like playing a game of chess when I can’t see the board.”

“Chess?” he asked, his voice incredulous and amused.  “I think it’s more like poker.” 

Stiles scowled and elbowed Derek in the stomach, making him grunt, and managed to turn around to face him.  “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

Stiles pursed his lips and wondered how the morning had already devolved into an argument. He stared hard at Derek, debating if he should bring up the thing Laura kept hinting about, the thing that only Derek (apparently) could tell him.  It wasn’t a _lie_ , but Derek was withholding information.  And the point was that Derek still had secrets and though Stiles couldn’t resent him for keeping them, he _could_ when Stiles couldn’t even keep his own.  He learned soon enough that there was little to no privacy when dealing with werewolves – and god, how was this his life now? Not six months ago he didn’t even know werewolves existed but now he was stupidly in love with one – and even though Derek’s wolf was a part of who he was, he still hated how he couldn’t even tell a white lie without Derek _knowing_. 

He let his eyes rove across Derek’s face and the longer he stared, the more he started to realize what a very bad idea it was to fall asleep in Derek’s bed. Derek’s hair was sleep mussed, but his eyes were bright and clear and focused on Stiles. He wasn’t wearing a shirt – goddamnit, he _wasn’t wearing a shirt_ – and their bodies were almost flush against each other. So close.  Too close.  Derek’s arm was still slung over his waist and his body heat seared through the shirt Stiles was still wearing.  He couldn’t do this.

“Laura said,” he said after a few long moments, and he felt Derek tense next to him, “That you have something to tell me.”

Derek let out a low growl.  “Laura may be my Alpha, but she has no right to – ”

“She didn’t,” Stiles interrupted.  “She said to wait for you to tell me.  Though she did say if you didn’t tell me soon that she would.”  Derek’s expression was shuttered, and Stiles sighed inwardly. It was a lost cause to force Derek to open up; Stiles wouldn’t do that to him, anyway.  As close as they were, sometimes Stiles felt like he still knew very little about Derek.

He made to get up, but Derek’s grip tightened and he flipped them over, pinning Stiles to the bed.  “Wha – ” Stiles swallowed his words when Derek buried his nose in the crook of his neck.  “Derek?”  His pulse quickened and there was _no way_ Derek wasn’t aware of what he was doing to him.  It _wasn’t fair_. They were hip to hip, chest to chest, and Stiles _craved_.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said into his skin, making Stiles shudder.  “I didn’t want – I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”

“Then tell me now,” Stiles said, his voice soft.  He gave in to the desire to run a hand through Derek’s hair, down his neck, down his back.  Stiles felt Derek’s muscles quiver and he continued his ministrations.  Neither of them said anything for a while, so Stiles kept stroking Derek’s back like he would do when Derek was a wolf. It had the same effect on Derek in human form: Derek melted against him, pliant and content. Patience wasn’t a virtue of Stiles’, but he managed to stay quiet for the moments it took Derek to collect his thoughts.  If that was what he was doing, if not falling asleep.

“You smell good,” Derek finally said and Stiles stopped his motions, shocked and confused.

“What?”

“Smell good,” Derek repeated, and emphasized it by nuzzling deeper and breathing in.

Stiles made a choked noise and swallowed thickly.  “I don’t – ” he started, but cut himself off.  How could he _possibly_ smell good to a werewolf?  “Shouldn’t I, I dunno, smell _wrong_ to you?” With the hormones he was taking that warred with his natural – unnatural? – hormones, he couldn’t imagine the cacophony of odors he was doused in.  He probably reeked.

“To some wolves, maybe,” Derek conceded after a beat.  “But not to me.” 

Stiles frowned, “Okay, there’s more to this than you’re letting on. So spill.”

Derek sighed and lifted his head to look him in the eye.  Stiles waited, traced random patterns on the small of Derek’s back, willing his pulse to slow.  It was difficult when Derek was on top of him and his heart was thundering away in his chest. Not that he could hide it anymore, but he’d prefer to have at least some of his defenses intact when Derek finally told him . . . whatever it was.

Stiles startled when he felt Derek trace a finger down his cheek, to his lips. His eyes widened when he realized, _holy shit_ Derek was looking at him with desire in his eyes.  “Derek – ”

Derek shook his head and leaned in to cover Stiles’ lips with his own. He was gentle yet firm, and Stiles whimpered at the sheer warmth seeping throughout his body. Stiles returned the kiss without thought, but with unbridled fervor.  He groaned when Derek ran his tongue teasingly across the seam of his lips, dipping in just enough to tantalize.

Stiles arched his back and Derek ran one of his hands down Stiles’ flank to the hem of his shirt, ruching it up so his fingertips were against Stiles’ skin. Derek pressed into him, and Stiles brought a hand up to tug at Derek’s hair.  He growled and rolled his hips against Stiles, and Stiles moaned when he felt the evidence of Derek’s desire grind against his thigh. Stiles tried to deepen the kiss, tried to coax Derek further into him, but Derek didn’t let Stiles draw him in; instead he seemed content to drive Stiles crazy with frustration.

When Derek pulled away, Stiles panted his wonder into the space between them. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Derek admitted and started to nip down his neck.

“Why didn’t you?” he managed, breathless. 

Derek chuckled, “Many reasons.”  He rolled his hips again and Stiles whined.  “But my wolf being the main reason.”

“I’ve known – ”  His breath hitched when Derek ran his teeth against Stiles’ clavicle.  “I’ve known about your wolf for months,” he managed.  As much as he was enjoying this, he still had _no idea_ what was going on or why Derek decided to make out with him out of the blue.  Not that he was really complaining, but hadn’t he asked Derek a question? How exactly was this an answer?

“Not just that,” Derek said against his chest, the hand under Stiles’ shirt dipping down to the edge of his pants.  “My wolf needed to be sure, sure about its choice.”

“Choice?” he asked, bewildered.

Derek nodded and returned his gaze to Stiles, and Stiles heart skipped when Derek’s eyes flashed electric blue.  “What do you know about mates?”

Stiles frowned, struggling to get his mind back in gear.  A near impossible endeavor when everything he ever wanted was right in front of him.  “Mates?” he repeated. What?  Wolf mates?  Like – _oh_.  Like spend-the-rest-of-their-lives-with-each-other mates. Like fated to be together no matter what.  Like –

“Are you saying that I’m your mate?  Like, we’re _predestined_ for each other?” Stiles asked, feeling dread coil in the pit of his stomach. “You can’t help yourself?” He untangled his fingers from Derek’s hair and brought both hands around to rest on Derek’s chest, putting as much distance as he could between them.  Stiles didn’t want a relationship with Derek – if this was where this was heading – if it wasn’t a conscious decision. It’d feel too contrived, _forced_.  He didn’t want that.  He wanted Derek to _want_ him because he truly _wanted_ ; not because of base instinct.

“No, you misunderstand,” Derek said, digging his fingers into Stiles’ hip, Stiles’ distress and sudden uncertainty making him react. Derek sighed again, frowning. “Contrary to popular belief, wolves don’t necessarily mate for life.  They’re monogamous, yes, but if an Alpha loses his or her mate, they may deem it necessary to find another mate for the stability of their pack.”

“You’re not Alpha,” Stiles pointed out inanely.

Derek growled, “Stiles, you’re missing the point.”

Stiles scowled right back.  “Well then stop talking in analogies!” he cried, smacking Derek in the chest with his hands.

“The _point_ ,” Derek said, “Is that there are multiple potential mates for each wolf, but the wolf ultimately chooses who he or she wants to spend their life with.  They choose according to their strengths and weaknesses, and their mate complements them in every way possible.  _Which means_ ,” he continued when Stiles made a noise to interrupt, “That out of the potential mates that I’ve met, I and my wolf choose _you_.” He hooked a finger under Stiles’ chin and lifted it so their gazes met; he hadn’t even realized he looked away. “Okay?”

He stared at Derek, unsure how to take this.  _Mates_?  What did that even _mean_? Thinking back to the beginning of their relationship, when Stiles didn’t yet know about Derek’s wolf, Derek had been the one who sought Stiles out first.  He hadn’t questioned it at the time, had _basked_ in the attention Derek gave him, but in hindsight it was just Derek familiarizing himself with a potential mate.  A potential _partner_.

“Were you _dating_ me this whole time?” he blurted, incredulous.

Derek raised an amused eyebrow.  “Not really, but I suppose you could say that.”

“What the hell,” he breathed in disbelief.  “And when you were a wolf – ”  He cut himself off and licked his lips.  All those times Derek nuzzled him, _cuddled_ him, Derek had been _sincere_. He’d been _staking his claim_.  Once Stiles had accepted his wolf, expressed _awe_ in his wolf, Derek had already chosen him.  Though he was unaware, Stiles had made an unconscious decision to embrace his role as mate.  As Derek’s partner. _What the hell_.  But there was still one thing he didn’t understand.

“But why?” he asked, his voice shaky.  “Why me? I’m – ”

“Don’t you dare say broken,” Derek said, his eyes flashing blue.

Stiles bit his lip, anxiety clawing at his throat.  “Then why?”  Stuff like this didn’t happen to him.  Especially not the possible love of his life confessing his mutual affection.  He wasn’t fit, wasn’t _worthy_ of that kind of happiness.  Not when everything about him was _wrong_.

Derek rested his forehead against Stiles’, closed his eyes and breathed in. “Why not?”

He let out a soft sob, “You can’t just – ”  Stiles curled his hands into fists and punched Derek’s chest half-heartedly. “You can’t do that. You can’t just say all this and expect me to be okay with it,” Stiles said, tears escaping the corners of his eyes. “How can I be okay with it?” He really wasn’t okay; how could he be, when Derek had known exactly what to say, where to hit for his walls to crumble.  Stiles felt raw and exposed; Derek could destroy him in a heartbeat if he wanted to, his emotional defenses torn away with two simple words.   _Why not?_ Stiles was trembling – either from distress or relief, he wasn’t sure – and Derek brought a hand up to wipe away his tears.  It wasn’t fair; how can Derek say something like that with such honesty and not know that Stiles would break down?  _Why not?_  He couldn’t do that; he wasn’t allowed to; _how could he do that_.

Derek placed a soft kiss on his lips, another on his brow, another on each eyelid, again on his lips.  “I love you,” he breathed, and Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and cried silent tears into his shoulder.

Freaking werewolves.

^

Stiles didn’t know how long it took, but he managed to pull himself together with as much dignity as he could.  He shifted back and tilted his head back to capture Derek’s lips in a messy kiss. His cheeks were tearstained, and his nose was runny, but Derek could deal dammit.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Stiles said when he pulled away.  Derek huffed, amused, and started to kiss away Stiles’ tears. “Why’d you make me wait for so damn long? You knew, I _know_ you knew how I felt, but you just – ” He released a tremulous breath and shook his head; he supposed it didn’t really matter anymore. Derek was here, Derek _wanted_ him, and god if he was stupid enough to think about anything else but divulging both of them of their clothes _as quickly as possible_ then he really didn’t deserve this at all.  He dove in for another kiss and started to tug at Derek’s pants.  “Off.  Now.”

Derek let a bark of laughter escape him, and he grabbed both of Stiles’ wrists and pinned them above his head with one hand.  Stiles groaned and wriggled against Derek’s hold, despite knowing that he wasn’t going anywhere.  “In due time,” Derek said with a leer.  He leaned in and nibbled down Stiles’ neck, and Stiles bared his throat to give him access. They shifted so Derek was lying between Stiles’ legs, and he could feel Derek’s erection against his inner thigh.

“Derek, you’re gonna kill me dude, seriously.  I’ve wanted this for _so long_.”

“I know,” he said, biting at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “I did, too.  But I was afraid.”  Derek sighed and ran his free hand down Stiles’ side to rest at his hipbone. “I’ve told you once, that I wasn’t interested in people who only wanted me for my looks.”  He lifted his gaze and met Stiles’ eyes.  His breath caught at the sheer look of vulnerability Derek was giving him, and he squeezed his thighs against Derek’s waist, boxing him in. “I had to be sure.”

Stiles licked his lips and squeezed Derek tighter, leaning up to nudge him with his nose. He placed a kiss at the corner of his mouth.  “Okay. I get it.  I – ”  Just the thought of Kate using Derek as a means to an end, or other people showing interest based on his looks alone, angered him and gave him the sudden urge to tell Derek about David.  He knew what it was like. To think someone was genuine but to have your affections thrown in your face.  “My last boyfriend only wanted me as a conquest.  As a – ” he struggled to find the proper word. “I was just the resident freak to him. Something to brag about to his teammates.”

Derek’s grip tensed around his wrists as he frowned down at him. “Someone’s done that to you?”

Stiles attempted to shrug.  “Who wouldn’t?”

“Stiles – ”

“It’s okay,” he hastened to soothe.  “It’s in the past, and it’s okay.”  Stiles pecked Derek on the lips.  “It’s okay.” He kissed Derek again, soft and coaxing, urging Derek closer to deepen it.  Derek responded and pressed Stiles into the mattress, the hand on Stiles’ hip tracing the hem of his pants.  When Derek dipped his hand into Stiles’ pants, Stiles moaned and arched his back. Their kiss turned dirty, their tongues battling for dominance, and Derek released Stiles’ wrists to let his hands wander.  Likewise, Stiles caressed Derek wherever he could, their fingers charting each other’s bodies as they groped at each other, desperate for contact.  Every touch seared through his skin, sent his pulse racing, and Stiles couldn’t get enough.

Stiles wrenched away from Derek’s mouth and fumbled with his buttons. “Derek, please. I want you.  _God_ , I want you so much.” Slow exploration could wait for next time; right now, Stiles needed Derek inside him.

Derek seemed to understand, and he helped Stiles shuck off his pants and underwear so he was bare from the waist down.  He undid his own pants and pulled them down just enough to pull himself out. Derek reached over to the nightstand and fumbled with the drawer as Stiles ran his hands up and down Derek’s flank, taking in the sight of Derek’s uncut cock.  He was a bit larger than anyone he’s ever been with, but god, it was going to feel so good.

Stiles leaned back and spread his legs for Derek, watched him roll a condom on then hold up a bottle of lube with a questioning look.

“I should be fine,” Stiles said, reaching down to touch himself. Oh yeah, he was wet enough. “Only if you want to,” he added, breathless.

Derek quirked an amused smile and slicked himself up anyway before tossing the bottle aside and plastering his body against Stiles again.  He dove in for a kiss, taking Stiles apart piece by piece with his tongue, with his lips, with each gentle stroke of his fingers across his skin, and when Derek finally slid into him, Stiles felt himself shatter. 

“Fuck, _Derek_ ,” he moaned, undulating his hips to meet Derek’s.  He wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, threw his arms about his shoulders and hung on.

With every movement, every thrust, Derek put Stiles back together again as they breathed in waves of passion and desire.  Derek traced the scattered moles across Stiles’ neck and jawline with his tongue, mapping out unnamed constellations to revisit another time. Stiles clawed into Derek’s back, desperate to cling to whatever was remaining of his reality, as the grinding of their hips pushed him to the edge.

“Stiles,” Derek breathed into his neck.  “I can’t – ”

Stiles whimpered.  “So close, Derek. _Please_.” Derek groaned, one hand coming down to his hip, the other cradling his neck.  He tucked Stiles close to him and sat back in one fluid motion so Stiles was sitting in his lap, the sudden change of angle making them both gasp. “Oh god.”  Stiles buried his face in Derek’s neck as he rocked his hips down. He dragged his teeth across Derek’s jugular, and Derek shuddered.  Stiles pulled back and looked Derek in the eye, his pupils dilated with lust. He lapped at Derek’s lips, whispered ‘I love you’ against them, and brought him in for kiss, his fingers tangling into Derek’s hair.

Derek whined, his grip hard enough to bruise.  A few more shallow thrusts and Derek came with a low moan, and Stiles rolled his hips against him, chasing his own release.  The hand on Stiles’ hip loosened, and Derek traced idle patterns down to his buttocks.  He tensed when Derek finger grazed over his asshole, but Derek continued on to where they were connected.  With light strokes, Derek teased his entrance.  Stiles broke their kiss just as Derek pressed against his perineum and Stiles came with a shout, his fingers clenching at Derek’s hair.

He rested his forehead against Derek’s as he panted out his exertion into the air.  Derek eased them back down on the bed, pulling out with a soft hiss.  Stiles watched him take care of the condom through half-lidded eyes before he returned to the bed and settled himself between Stiles’ thighs again, nuzzling and nipping at his neck.  The shirt he was still wearing was plastered against his skin from his sweat and he bemoaned the fact that there wasn’t more skin-to-skin contact. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s bare torso, gave languid caresses down his back.

“You have a tattoo,” he said.

Derek hummed in affirmative.  “It’s a triskelion.”

“Dude,” Stiles giggled, remembering the conversation he had with Morrell over winter break.  “I totally didn’t give you guys your Christmas presents.”

Derek snorted. “I appreciate the thought,” he said as he continued his absent ministrations.

Stiles huffed, a huge grin on his face.  He tilted his head further to give Derek more access and he let out a pleased growl. Stiles closed his eyes and sighed, content. He could definitely get used to this.

Just as he started to drift back to sleep, there was a knock at the door. Stiles blinked the drowsiness from his eyes and frowned, confused.

“When you two are done macking,” Laura’s voice floated through the door, and Derek growled in annoyance.  “I got breakfast in the kitchen.  And Derek, you have _no right_ to growl at me, you _idiot_.”

Derek let a low rumble escape him anyway, and Stiles laughed, a bit hysterical. “Is this how it’s gonna be?” he asked, amused.

“No,” Derek said, pulling away and sitting back on his haunches. His eyes roved over Stiles’ partially clothed body, and he blushed at the scrutiny.  Derek ran a finger from the jut of Stiles’ hipbone, down his inner thigh, then pressed against the back of his knee.  Stiles shivered and bit his lip, feeling arousal pool in the pit of his stomach again.  “Laura has news,” Derek murmured, though he didn’t take his eyes off Stiles. “And it’s not good.”

Stiles’ mood dissipated in an instant, and he sat up as well. “What – ?”

Derek shook his head and dove in for a kiss, deep and all encompassing. Stiles groaned when Derek pulled away and sidled off the bed.  “I don’t know.” He walked across the room and rummaged through his drawers for a shirt.

“Dude,” he breathed.  “You can’t just kiss me like that and walk away, especially when we’re in imminent danger.”

Derek shot him an incredulous look over his shoulder.  “Who said we’re in imminent danger?”

Stiles pouted, but let it drop, searching for his pants instead. The thing was, Stiles may be an optimist at heart, but he was also a bit of a realist.  He preferred to assume the worse in a situation and be proved wrong rather than vice versa.  So when Derek said that Laura had news and it wasn’t good, his mind made the immediate jump to worse case scenario.

“Stiles?”

He looked up and Derek was standing in front of him, a questioning look on his face. Derek reached out and ran a finger down Stiles’ cheek.  Stiles caught his wrist, turned into his hand, and placed a kiss at the center of his palm. “‘m okay.”  Derek didn’t look convinced, even though Stiles wasn’t lying, and Stiles stood to place a chaste kiss on Derek’s lips.  “C’mon, let’s not keep your sister waiting.”

Derek snorted and laced their fingers together.  “After she interrupted us?  I think she can wait a little longer.”

“ _I can hear you, you know!_ ” came a shout from somewhere in the apartment.

Stiles laughed and Derek rolled his eyes, though there was a faint smile on his lips. “At least she didn’t come knocking ten minutes earlier.”

Derek glared at him and Stiles grinned.  “Stiles,” he said, his expression sobering.  “I don’t expect – ” he cut himself off and pursed his lips. “Association with a werewolf pack is dangerous – ”

“Yeah, I got that,” Stiles interrupted.  He didn’t want to hear excuses of how this wasn’t going to work, if that was what Derek was implying.  “But if you think that’s gonna scare me off, you got another think coming, pal.” Stiles took a step closer so they were chest to chest.  “You said it yourself: you’re stuck with me ‘til the end.”

Derek’s lip quirked, “That wasn’t exactly what I was going to say, but I’m glad you think that.”  Oh. Whoops.  Derek brought his free hand up to rest on Stiles’ hip. “I was going to say that we’re going to have to teach you how to defend yourself.  Maybe teach you some magic, if you have a spark.” 

Stiles smiled, “I can do that.”

Derek returned the smile.  “So you’re sure you want to be associated with us?” he asked.  Stiles could tell that though his tone was light and airy, Derek was serious. He needed to know, without a doubt, that Stiles was okay with running with a pack of wolves. That he was willing to put his life on the line for them.  It was a whole new world for Stiles, and he wanted to explore all of it with Derek leading the way.

Stiles took the hand on his hip and placed it on his chest, above his heart, then he rested his other hand on Derek’s chest.  Derek's heartbeat resonated through his palm, his body heat warming his fingertips.  Stiles couldn’t go back to what he had before he met Derek.  He _wouldn’t_. As dangerous as it may be, he was honored to run with wolves, and he would for the rest of his life.

He looked up at Derek and they locked gazes.  With a steady voice and a steady heart, he answered.

“Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! Open ending for a possible sequel and lots of potential for timestamps! Thank you all _so much_ for your support. Whether you left kudos, commented, bookmarked, or subscribed, THANK YOU.


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